


Shadow of the Sith

by crqstalite



Series: Shadow of The Sith - EU [6]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Dhyndre Djaal, F/F, F/M, Hakiojkl Jorgan, Jaak'lo Khethak, M/M, Multi, Ryean Wystern, Star Wars: The Old Republic - Forged Alliances, Star Wars: The Old Republic - Shadow of Revan, Synntai Pakar, Vza'haria Atiya, Xev'heng Lumere, Ziost (Star Wars), being cross-posted on tumblr, khaak beniko, khaak sayare, khelan hyllus, mellena shan, mierrio revel, mivonie iresso, naji iresso, some other one shots are there instead of here, tri'ama amarillis, whyatt grace
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:47:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 104,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21577801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crqstalite/pseuds/crqstalite
Summary: It was basic knowledge. Don't kiss those you couldn't keep. Yet, the Wrath happens to be horrible at following the rules.A love story between an SIS agent out for his own life and a Sith without a purpose amid a space opera of other stories intertwining in the best and worst of ways as the invasion of another civilization looms.
Relationships: Aric Jorgan/Female Republic Trooper, Elara Dorne/Male Republic Trooper, Felix Iresso/Female Jedi Consular | Barsen'thor, Lana Beniko/Female Smuggler, Lt. Pierce & Female Sith Warrior, Malavai Quinn/Female Sith Warrior, Theron Shan/Female Sith Warrior
Series: Shadow of The Sith - EU [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1628581
Comments: 5
Kudos: 20





	1. A Moral Dilemma - Manaan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fateful meeting of a Jedi and an Emperor's Wrath isn't particularly friendly.

**TRI'AMA._MANAAN.**

There were only a few things in this small galaxy that could piss off Tri'ama Amarillis. Well, that was a lie, she was very easy to anger, she wouldn't even attempt to kick that ideal from her character or people's assumptions of her. Sith, and the Emperor's Wrath, usually she had to pick and choose her battles, decide what was worth getting all up and arms about. 

Still, this had to top her list of screwed up missions, rage still rolling off her in waves as her armor soaks through with the salty water of Manaan's endless ocean. Whether Lana had intentionally set her up this way, or if it really had been a fluke had yet to be seen. There wasn't a lot of trust between the two women yet, and she's beginning to see why. Whatever Lord Beniko intended to have her do in the future for her or anyone close to her, she'd have to definitely sign a waiver next time. Not to mention the Republic agent that the Jedi had been so ecstatic to see open them an escape pod, she had plenty of questions for the blonde Sith at the head of these operations.

The woman that had surely followed her and later assisted (as grudgingly as Tri'ama would admit) with the destruction of the Selkath cyborg was a mystery though. Her blonde hair hung in her face, though she'd tied up what she could in a messy bun at the base of her neck while her soldier companion carried her on his back. The way her face contorted in pain, she figured the Jedi had broken her ankle, or possibly simply twisted it when she'd fallen earlier. A reason to allow someone else to take the brunt of the situation, Tri'ama scoffed at the idea. If she'd allowed Quinn to do such a thing, she might as well wilt from the embarrassment at succumbing to such an injury. Then again, she'd never met a Jedi who wasn't out for their precious Order, so she figured it was learned helplessness anyways. No wonder they continued to lose battle after battle, unable to fight through the pain.

The kolto still stung where it'd been applied rather generously on her pale skin, she'd admit that much. Not to anyone out loud, but she shifts an armor plate stealthily to mitigate the pain. A portion of her armor remained in the ocean because she'd had to rip it off to allow Quinn access to do his magic on the cuts that decorated her arms and the blood that gushed out of the many wounds she'd acquired while in the lab. Money lost, though apparently they were oh-so severe that they needed to be dealt with right then and there in the escape pod. She shoved him off her as soon as she could move her arm again, she wasn't interested in being pored over like a holonovel for much longer than necessary, especially by someone such as the Captain. Not to mention they weren't alone either, a Republic soldier and a Jedi sharing the pod with them. Pulling stitches, that was a bridge they'd burn when she got to it.

The Jedi (who still hadn't revealed her or the soldier's name) was still a mystery. Maybe a tad taller than she was, whether she was wearing heeled boots was another question, with blue eyes that were more grey in the sunlight of the planet. Just as the last bolt of lightning from the Shaasa adherent had ripped through her system, a blinding light of green and tan robes had appeared from somewhere in the room and taken down the injured Selkath with a single slash of her double bladed lightsaber. Pissed by the loss of kill, of course, she didn't even offer her own name though the woman had asked. Very conversational at first, but the fact Tri'ama kept ignoring her definitely made her put a sock in it. She'd also believed the woman wasn't half bad at first, but she also had kept Jakarro from murdering Gorima as Tri'ama had originally requested of the Wookie.

_Stand in the way of justice then, be that way._

Tri'ama decided she didn't like her after that.

"My Lord. You've returned in one piece." Lana's facial expression is unwavering, but her tone changes slightly into one of being content with how the events had panned out. The woman was nothing short of being infuriatingly professional in the face of danger, though she seems to have a sense of humor, if their past conversations in Vaiken's cantina were anything to go by, "I'm assuming your injuries haven't rendered you inoperable?" She questions, placing her datapad down on the table behind her.

In other news, the Republic agent had also joined them, and he leaned against one of the tables in mock boredom. A red jacket, most notably, and cyborg implants on his temple and above his eyebrow. Good-looking, if she were being entirely honest. She'd never met the man before, much less knew his name. She'd have to ask Lana once he (and hopefully the Jedi) left.

"No thanks to Arkous." Tri'ama responds, crossing her own arms as Quinn stands behind her. She moves away without a second thought, attempting not to seem too at odds with him. That mess was something she'd sweep under the rug for now, probably for the rest of forever while she was at it. If Lana ever asked...she wouldn't get an answer, it was that simple, "You could've told me you were sending me into a death trap before hand, Lord Beniko."

"It wasn't intentional, my lord." Lana reassures her, her expression unchanging and golden eyes boring into her as if _she_ were the one who'd done something wrong, "Manaan isn't allied to one side or another, so the way this mission turned out could not have been foreseen. What Arkous and Darok did is unforgivable, yes."

"Tell me we got more from this mission than only losing two of the Republic and the Empire's more important people in their hierarchies." Tri'ama shakes her head in disbelief, a note of sarcasm in her voice So Lana wasn't the apologetic type she was used to dealing with. Most respected her as the Emperor's Wrath -- there was no one above her in the Empire but the Emperor himself -- but it seemed Lana was not one of those people. That would have to be taken in stride, because she was already in too deep to simply pull out of the mission entirely because of someone who annoyed her for pretentious reasons. A cult on the rise, along with both a Colonel and Darth defecting to said cult? That would make galactic news within the week if it got out. If she or Lana were connected to it, she could consider her reputation destroyed.

So, as self-serving as it sounded, it looked like she was in this for the long haul.

The clanking of the soldier's boots and then the hiss of barely hidden pain makes her privy to him putting the woman down, and the agent's eyes widen in surprise at the scene, though he's clearly trying to keep his emotions under wraps. They must know each other rather well then.

"Master Iresso, I didn't know you'd been injured." The man responds, concern evident in his voice, as the woman hobbles to join their small circle. She has to lean against the soldier to regain her balance properly, but gives the man a reassuring smile, grey eyes tired but still bright after the mess they'd been through. How or why, she wasn't entirely sure and didn't exactly want to know either.

_Jedi._

"I'll be fine, really Theron. A few days and continous healing should be enough to have me back up and running. No need to worry that much." Master Iresso says, shrugging him off, a chuckle on the undertones of her voice. Her face falls and loses it's smile though as she shifts her posture to test the weight on her injured ankle before sliding back into the position that she'd been in before, "What matters is that Darok got away."

"Which brings us to our main point, both Darth Arkous and Colonel Darok have escaped Manaan. For now, no one knows where they've gone or where they're headed, though they are tied to the _Order of Revan,_ " Lana repeats, moving to stand in a nearly identical stance to most Imperial agents when briefing, hands folded behind her back in a strong stance. "It seems though, that some of us aren't acquainted yet."

"Clearly." There's a touch of sarcasm that she lets slip into that admission, though Lana's glance toward her is one of 'play nice or else'. Getting out of here as soon as possible was her first idea, not making friends with the Republic. She sends a veiled glare towards her Sith ally, but it's easily deflected and ignored to her dismay. Then she'd play this game as long as the players were around. As much as she was the unwilling participant.

"Theron Shan, Republic SIS-and your new ally." The agent nods, seeming not exactly talkative or intending to reveal much more about himself. Tight-lipped and quiet then, how had Lana managed to score him as an ally to begin with? There were more mysteries to Lord Beniko than she'd thought at first then. Possibly they were here at the same time as each other, but to be hunting down the same people they were?

Too much of a coincedence.

At least he had a pretty face. That, she could get used to.

"Master Naji Iresso, Barsen'thor of the Jedi Order, another ally of yours." The Jedi responds, her face falling into a content, blank face as she looks to Lana and Tri'ama. Kinder maybe, but also somewhat younger than Theron, clear from her attentive attitude, and the fact she isn't as quick to shove them off, "My partner here is Lieutenant Felix Iresso."

 _Brother? Husband?_ It isn't immediatly clear to Tri'ama when she looks the two over and tries to find the connection between the shared last name. The contrasting skin colors of a sun-kissed tan and even more desert sun-kissed chestnut throw a wrench into the mix. Distant family, maybe. If there was one thing she knew about Jedi, it was that chances of having a lover and still being a Jedi, were very slim. _There is no passion, there is serenity_ bullshit or something along those lines.

Then again, looking at how well her own marriage had worked out, she's considering not pointing as many fingers as she is right now. A shiver runs up her spine at the thought, holding back the want to turn around or even glance over her shoulder at Quinn.

He wouldn't do anything with other people here.

She hoped.

"Lana Beniko." Lana says, as polite as always as she gives a small but tight smile to the three. So her trust didn't lie with them as fully as Tri'ama had assumed, "I trust you both already know Jakarro."

The wookie says something she can't translate, though the Barsen'thor smiles knowingly, as if she knows good and well what has just been said. Because the others don't make any note to ask what he's said, she doesn't either. Even though she knows next to nothing about the furry species and their more-complicated-than-necessary language, she is a woman of appearances. Weakness or otherwise, that wasn't something she was about to admit defeat in front of so many people. Theron says something in response she doesn't immediately catch, but he isn't a bad face to look at, she realizes. He probably meddles less than Quinn ever did, anyways.

"C2-D4, former translator to her imminence, Queen Lina of Onderon." The droid strapped to the wookie's chest answers. A rather sarcastic bucket of bolts that they'd picked up out of the prison, he'd be if the rest of his body was attached to his head if he kept talking though, by her hand or the Wookie's. She wondered what sort of business required a pair like the two of them, and where the rest of the droid's body had gone. He'd been without it for a while, apparently. She assumes that Jakarro must be some sort of pirate, or possibly was just here at the wrong place at the wrong time and got swept up into the mess -- just as she did.

"Darth Tri'ama Amarillis-Quinn, Emperor's Wrath." She keeps herself from growling out her own introduction, though she's still curious about the presence of three Republic citizens. "My medic, Malavai Quinn. Really Lana, I wasn't expecting the Jedi or the agent. Had I known I would've polished my armor before I came." 

"I'm sure you would've, Wrath." Lana turns her attention away from her though she's clearly a tad annoyed by the sarcastic comments of hers. They'd both see how long this allyship would last, between them and between the Republic, "Then on the matter of Revan and his followers, who it seems Arkous and Darok are..."

-

"You were on Tython, when the Empire attacked. I remember you." 

It's the last thing she expects to hear, preparing to leave Manaan. The still hobbling Barsen'thor is standing rather strong in behind her, frowning with her eyebrows knit together but not inherently angry. Her presence remains stable, though there are chinks in the armor of it. Raising an eyebrow, Tri'ama turns from the panel to open her own star ship hangar. That meant that the woman had followed her all the way back here from the Welcome Center and had finished her debriefing with Theron earlier than expected. Maybe she should feel honored she's even being graced with her presence?

That was most definitely odd. What good was she to the Warden of the Order? Well, that had an obvious answer but the point remained clear. Her weapon isn't even lit, and she's not in any position to be attacking her or starting anything. Clearly Tri'ama has the upper hand, but she'll entertain the woman if that's what she wants.

"And if I was?" She asks, after waving Quinn off to start the Fury's engines. Once he's gone, she turns back to the woman, fully ready to grab her sabers in case this was all a facade for sympathy. What else could she be here for, friendly conversation? Tri'ama would watch Dromound Kaas burn before that happened, "What would it mean to you?"

"Padawans were massacred because of you. _Innocent children_ because of your Empire's unsated thirst for blood." The Barsen'thor narrows her eyes before she continues, "They weren't any threat to you, and yet their bodies litter the courtyard because of your bloodthirsty ways."

"Is that why you came and tracked me down to my hangar? To berate me for killing a handful of whelps?" Tri'ama stifles a chuckle that still makes itself known through her respirator. Shaking her head and putting her hands on her hips, she slides into a more relaxed stance once she realizes that there isn't any actual violence present, "I thought you would've had better things to do than lecture me on my actions, great Barsen'thor."

"How can you just live with yourself after doing such a thing?" She questions, balling her fists at her side, though looking away from her for a moment. She holds back another laugh as the woman breathes first before focusing back on her with a renewed look of passion in her eyes. Containing herself then, lowering herself to a simmer before she continues on her tirade, "And then act as if you're all righteous trying to help track down Revan?"

"If I remember correctly, your Republic assaulted my homeworld as well without any precedence. I'm sure your precious Agent Shan had a hand in it as well, I can nearly promise it. They killed my people, and plenty of acolytes while they were at it. I say we paid you all back rather well in my opinion afterwards. You knew what you were getting into when you stepped foot on Korriban, and you knew the Sith would retaliate. Or is that unfair because we're the _bad guys_?" Tri'ama raises a well-placed eyebrow, using a tone that was reminiscent of one her mother employed when she was but a child herself, knowing she's caught the Jedi in a trap of morals. The woman's eyes widen, surprised as Tri'ama continues speaking, "Because we're the big bad Sith, it's okay that you've murdered our acolytes but it's a horrible tragedy that your precious padawans were struck down? Pick your battles accordingly, Barsen'thor. That was one you could not win without casualties. I do hope you're firmly aware of that."

"Padawans are children, _Wrath_. Your acolytes were nothing more than wayward souls." Her words have a bite to them after she collects herself, something she didn't immediatly expect from the woman. A welcome challenge at the very least, though. Tri'ama was one thing, and that was a debater. A welcome one, at that. If Master Iresso thought she was going to take this lying down, well then she'd have to get her eyes and thoughts checked. She was Sith, not some weak-willed Jedi, surely what she was used to dealing with in the Order.

"A moral dilemma then. Our future versus yours, and I see you favor your own more than ours. Were you also there for the decimation of the Academy? To see the lights of overseers and Sith alike go out like a power outage over a city? Were _you_ the one who dealt the final blow to Soverus?" Tri'ama sneers, and the Barsen'thor nearly takes a step back in mild fear. That's all she needed short of the actual admittance to doing the deed. Her rage flares, that meant she had done it. Tri'ama had never been particularly close to Soverus (she didn't bother with the petty in-fighting of the Council) but the ripple through the Force was still evident to most stronger Sith. Now knowing the Jedi aren't even above that, she wonders what happened to these lightsided space wizards that were all so prissy and so perfect. There is a chance that the military was the one who organized this, enough soldiers fell before her as she defended Korriban from the assault, though it wasn't as if she'd just simply pass up the chance to get any more information from the Jedi themselves. She could imagine that this one would be happy to provide in it her quest towards moral righteousness.

"You...you killed Master Traless!" She attempts to rebutt. Her frustration is evident, and it's a welcome difference that she wasn't expecting. Tri'ama wonders where all that 'there is only peace' went as her presence flares. It prickles her own senses, which is confusing in itself as she buries it down within herself. How many buttons she would need to press, and where they all were was still a mystery to Tri'ama, but give it time. She'd figure it out, "You decimated the Jedi homeworld, and all for what?"

"And if I did? All's fair in love and war, Barsen'thor. Whether we come together to fight Revan or not, nothing will erase what the Republic has done to advance themselves in this Galactic War. Maybe the Empire has done some wrong too, but on this side of the fence it seems as if your precious Jedi have more to admit to than they'd like to say." As fun as it is to both tease the girl and watch as she progressively keeps trying to make up excuses for the distorted version of reality she lives in (really, acolytes might be older than a few saber-wielding toddlers who'd sooner whack off their own arms than protect the galaxy from anything more than nightmares, but they are still useful to forward one's own plans), she's also beginning to get angry. Lest the Barsen'thor walks away now and closes her bloody trap, she's concerned she may just choke the woman to get rid of her entirely. Lana would have her head for it, but at that moment Tri'ama isn't entirely sure she cares, "Anger. Does it feel foreign to you Barsen'thor? Tell me, have you ever used it against someone before?"

"I-I, never! That's not our way." She sputters, trying to reign in her emotions once she realizes what Tri'ama tries to get her to admit. She's realized all too quickly that Tri'ama is manipulating her into becoming angry, and instead sets her mouth in a thin line, thinking out her next response, "I'd never do such a thing, everyone deserves redemption."

"Then explain Soverus, please?" Tri'ama asks, her fake smile dropping as she speaks the name. She'd like to know what her excuse is, really. Was it traumatic for her? Was it just another battle? Tri'ama may not want to admit it, but she can't identify the type of Jedi that the Barsen'thor is just yet.

For once, the Barsen'thor is silent. Maybe she's thinking, maybe she tries to combat with her own excuse. Tri'ama wouldn't be surprised. She would hate to admit it, but the Jedi has a point. The Sith have murdered more Jedi than the Jedi have Sith. Capturing and rehabilition seems to have always been their so-called 'way' for some reason. Whether it actually worked was another problem entirely and...well Jaesa was a prime example. Not all Jedi were perfect, and maybe not all Jedi were the lightsided pawns the Order needed them to be.

"If you can't, then don't sputter and act like a fool. I'm not asking for you to admit you are wrong, I already know you are, but think of this Barsen'thor. I will not be told I am wrong for the morals that I grew up with and was taught. I will also not allow you to act as if the decimation of my training grounds did not affect me and did not make me more unable to trust you and your kind. To know what you are capable of now, is enough to convince me of where my loyalties lie. Do not act as if the killing of your homeworld and your people was a moralless job either. I had my reasons, as you had yours." Turning to leave and enter the hangar, she stops for just a moment and says, "Make your decision Barsen'thor. Stab me in the back and lose me and Lana as your allies to the other half of the conspiracy. Hopefully, I won't have to trust you long enough to finish this mess and allow you an opportunity to do so."

A glance over her shoulder shows that she is far from being wrong, as the Barsen'thor has closed her flapping mouth that almost seemed like a fish's before she and her ever-present soldier disappear back into the halls of Manaan's centers. The fury is up and running as she heads up the plank, 2V-R8 welcoming her back into the ship. As frustrating as the Jedi seems to be, she also seems like a feasible partner. Willing to argue her own points until the point of being backed into a metaphorical corner was fascinating, if also not a tad stupid. Good to know that she had someone like that on her side...well, she still didn't trust her, but that was in short supply these days anyway.

She could end up being a worthy ally, Theron included. Whether the woman flew around with a crew or not would be seen down the road, but she also wasn't sure what to tell her and what to leave firmly outside of their little discussions. Allying with Jedi in the past had never gone well for her, there was a lightsaber wound on her left bicep that was proof enough, and she was afraid she'd end up with a vibroblade in her back if she wasn't careful this time around. Keeping her guard up was a firm must.

But, she realizes as Quinn sets a course for Vaiken, if Revan really still is out there, then they could all be in more danger than anyone would like to admit. Revan was extremely powerful from what she did know, and he was no Baras either. Making a gamble of whether she'd make it to tomorrow was already tricky enough. And having a singular, one woman strike team, wouldn't be in the cards for an Empire that wished to survive this upcoming Cold War with the Republic. Forget that she trusted her life to her crew, forget that she essentially had the army on her beck and call if their absentee Emperor willed it, she may admit she needs help this time. And this time, not from Darth Revel.

Settling in to seethe upon her anger in her personal quarters, Tri'ama can't help the feeling of uneasiness growing in the pit of stomach. Something isn't right, but for now this was how things would have to be. An SIS agent, a Wookie with his droid, a Barsen'thor of the Order, Lana and herself.

It was anyone's game, and Tri'ama Amarillis did not intend to lose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited March 20th, 2020 because I was dissatisifed with the way I'd written it the first time.


	2. Shadows - Manaan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following the Legacy of the Rakata, Naji and Tri'ama touch base with their allies before they go underground. Tri'ama looks too deep into the shadows.

**NAJI _ MANAAN. POST_LEGACY_OF_THE_RAKATA.**

“It’s going to be a while until we see each other again, does it have to be immediatly?” Naji asks, smiling sweetly at the black-clad Sith Lord. She seems a tad stunned before offering her a surprised, but genuine smile in return. Unlike her also black clad companion, who simply seems to retreat further into her hood and respirator. Lana has been a strange addition to her list of contacts, primarily because she is of the opposite faction, but she’s sweet, and Naji is going to be rather sad to see her go. The way she continued to assist with their missions, and the friendly composure she had that was so rare among Sith, she was sad she couldn’t follow them underground. “I rather enjoyed this excursion.”

Especially for something that’s her fault to begin with. She hated the idea that Lana and Theron would have to uproot their lives and hide in the shadows for something she’d caused.

Well, Darth Amarillis’ (Quinn, but she’d nearly had a fit when Naji had mentioned her second last name), actually. Naji had wanted to let Arkous and Darok live. The Darth had other ideas and cut them down quickly in a flash of red light. But Revan had risen, and going into hiding seperately was the only way to go it seemed until everything died down. She hoped that’d be soon, so she could stop thinking about it and finally dispose of the cult leader. Get back to life as planned, or as planned as it could be. Relax on the Polaris, enjoy what time she had left in the galaxy.

She was curious about the absence of the starch Imperial who followed the other woman around (and provided healing, though Tharan was leery of the man and Felix agreed wholeheartedly, provided that they were with her and she wasn’t bleeding out on the ground), who the Darth had switched out for a tall and imposing Talz. However, prodding the Sith didn’t seem like a smart decision right then, and the answer could wait until later. Or never. Never was a good option. Naji wasn’t sure where she stood with the Wrath, but she’d rather actually be standing to figure out and answer that question.

“Unless you’re planning a party, it’ll definitely be a while. Not forever though.” Theron responds, leaning against the desk and crossing his arms, “There’s no way we’re letting a cult get away with the whole galaxy in tow.”

“Confident, Shan?” The scowling (Naji can’t see it at the moment but the few times the Darth has been without her mask, she’s always scowling) Sith remarks, a low hiss through her respirator as she chuckles ominously, though something seductive filtering into her voice. “I like that in a man.”

Lana stifled a chuckle (well enough that Naji only just barely caught the quirking of the corner of her lips), and she herself rolled her eyes. The entire ordeal had just been one sided flirting on the Darth’s side, though Theron seemed to be…oddly receptive if not also flustered when she did get to making these remarks. His signature wasn’t easy to read, even harder to try and decode, but it was clear enough that while he wasn’t comfortable with it, he also wasn’t exactly hating it either. Naji couldn’t figure why, he seemed like the least likely person to be attracted to a Sith. Also why her newfound companion had found solace in teasing the man, she wasn’t sure. What had happened to the Imperial healer?“I-uh, I’ll let you and Lana get to having your official debrief or…whatever.” He pointedly gave her a look that said ‘I’ll talk to you outside’, and once prompted that Lana didn’t need her anymore, she followed the SIS agent outside the private suite.

“Look, I know this operation probably wasn’t the smoothest you’ve ever been in, and for that, I’m sorry circumstances didn’t work out the way they should’ve.” Theron says, obviously about to begin a tangent that even she could predict. She’d rather cut him off before he begins rambling about how the mission could’ve gone. Possibilities were rarely if ever reality, and she would treat them as such.

“Theron, really. It was a couple of missions, and considering I came back with my mind and body intact is a miracle in itself. So maybe we had a few Imperial resources we didn’t ask for, all’s well that ends in you having to go underground.” She shrugs, before frowning as she runs a hand through her hair realizing what she’s just said, “Sorry, way too soon.”

His face is a mask of general confusion before shaking his head, possibly hiding his own smile, “It happened. But uh, yeah. We survived for the most part. Just don’t do anything stupid before I see you again?” he asks, holding out his hand for a handshake. She takes it, smiling wholeheartedly.

“I have Felix for that, and if worst comes to worst, you’ll hear about it first.” She says, shifting awkwardly as she lifts the hood on her robe again with nothing else to tell the SIS agent, “Well, if this is really goodbye, I don’t want to hold you up anymore than I already have. Safe travels to you and Lana.”

“You too, Barsen'thor.” He nods with the last ghosts of a smile still on his face, before turning and heading a different direction than her. Naji sincerely did wonder what the galaxy had in store for the four of them (five, Jakarro, six, C2D4). The Revanites really were rising again, and instead of going after them, they were waiting and lying low. Something she figured the violent Emperor’s Wrath wouldn’t exactly enjoy the thought of waiting for so long. A few months, a few years until they’d come across their allies again. Where, when. Questions that wouldn’t be easily forgotten.

A vacation of sorts, she figured. But not one she’d enjoy looking forward to the end of. As hectic as life became, a relaxing few weeks on the Polaris was exactly what the doctor had ordered. And a few glasses of brandy that at first she’d declined but quickly taken a liking to. Damned Tharan and his less than conventional healing ways. Finding Felix waiting just where she’d left him waiting, she grinned as she took his hand in hers, taking a few moments of looking out over the waters of Manaan before turning to him.

“Is it all over?” He asks, motioning for them to sit together on a bench before kissing her temple, “Are we going home?”

“We’re going home, that’s for sure. But it’s not over Felix, in fact, it’s just begun.”

-

**TRI'AMA_THE_FURY. POST_LEGACY_OF_THE_RAKATA.**

The ship is empty once she returns, and it unsettles her in a way that shudders her down to her core. Except for Broonmark, it’s dark and cold in the Fury as she goes about doing the pre-flight checks. Everyone else has been on leave, and calling them back is going to be difficult. Vette has been annoying her for a vacation for ages now, and cutting it short wasn’t going to earn her any points with the small twi'lek.

 _He_ was on permanent leave.

She tries to force the thought out of her mind as she tries to retrace his steps. Tries not to remember how his hands had guided hers to the controls, to stay in the hyperlane. What all the colored buttons did and their odd functions. A learning process she’d had to cut short.

She’s afraid he’s going to walk through those doors again, appear out of the shadows. She’s afraid if that happens, she won’t be able to say no again.

_“Tri'ama please, be reasonable!”_

Unclipping her respirator from around her jaw, she tries to slow her increasing heart rate, focusing on anything but him. The cool waters of Manaan, as it tried to drown her. The strange teechnology, the even stranger Selkath the Barsen'thor had been able to understand.

_“You know I’d do anything for you!”_

It’s too hot. But then it’s too cold as she takes her hands off the controls once she manages to get the Fury into hyperspace en route to Dromound Kaas. It’s too much to be in here, alone. Alone with her thoughts, alone with her fears. Terrified _he_ will eventually finish his mission. Terrified the shadows hide more than her nightmares.

_“I still love you.”_

Almost feeling his warm breath against her neck, she panics, lashing out with her saber before finding her Talz comrade behind her chair instead, his fur just barely brushing her exposed skin and one part near his chest nearly being singed off by her buzzing red blade. Putting her head down, she can’t even get out a string of apologies, though they flood her mind as she grimaces, disigniting her saber. Unable to even rehang it on her belt, it clatters to the floor out of her shaky hands.

_“Don’t leave me like this.”_

“Stars, Broonmark. I’m sorry, are you alright?” she asks, threading a hand through her hair as she tries to avoid all four eyes that are surely trained on her by the Talz. “It wasn’t intentional, I didn’t know you were there.”

He doesn’t answer, no half sentence worth of grunts, but instead puts a slightly rough hand on her shoulder. Without even a word on her end, he pulls her in closer to him. For once, she feels a small shred of safety, knowing Broonmark never did have any ulterior motives for her. For once, it’s just her and her protector.

 _“Tri'ama, please. You’ve loved me for years, and this is how it ends?”_ He _asks, quiet as he tries his best to seem strong._ His _face betrays him,_ his _force signature even more._ His _mind is crying out for her, regret at the forefront of_ his _mind, then sadness. It’s too much, even though the words hang in between them, she bunches the cloth lounge clothes in her hands, trying to stay focused, “Am I not playing my part right? Is this the problem?”_

 _“No, Malavai-Quinn. Your part was played, correctly. I-I can’t do_ this _anymore, Quinn.” She says, trying to motion to everything, them, their relationship. All of it. Nothing she can say can even encompass what she’s feeling at this very moment. How she feels about him, how her trust is about to snap, given this goes any further than it already has. It’s too much, “I’ll put it bluntly, I don’t trust you.”_

_“You…you said you were over that” He says, his face falling further into his melancholy, “You said you were willing to put that behind us. In favor of a new beginning.”_

_“Every time I look into the shadows, you’re there. I’m terrified to be alone with you these days, Quinn. It’s too much for me. I can’t continue to pretend everything is okay for the sake of a relationship that should’ve never been!” Her voice raises, words come tumbling out that she was never supposed to say. He’s taken aback by the realization, before quipping back himself._

_“You’re scared of me. You’re scared of something that happened years ago that I promised would never happen again.” He’s getting uncomfortably close to her again, enough to smell the cologne that seems to never truly get washed out of his clothes-or him. It stings her nose as she begins to get too hot, her heart rate just too fast. As she always is as she prods at his mind to go to sleep before she slips out of their bed to sleep in the crew quarters until morning. He tries to hug her, wrapping his arms around her before she can tell him to stop. Everything is too much, she can’t even begin to process, to rationalize._

_Quinn is entirely too close._

_Quinn needs to get off her, now._

_“Get. Off. Of. Me.” She growls, almost using the force to get him away from her as her breathing grows faster and faster. What if he’s hiding a knife somewhere in that jacket of his, waiting to strike as soon as she stops focusing on this, as soon as she turns her back? Waiting for her guard to drop to finally land the kill?_

_Baras is dead._

_But her fear isn’t. What happened on the transponder station wasn’t easily forgotten, she doubted she would ever truly be able to accept that. Be able to accept that what happened wouldn’t happen again. The one person she let into her heart, let know everything about her. Laughed with, cried with, made love with._

_Betrayed._

_Yes, it had been two and a half years. But every turn, he could be hiding in the shadows. He could be lying in wait everytime she crawled into bed with him. She’s scared. That she couldn’t say no before until she confided in Vette. And the way his desperate icy blue eyes bore into her, she’s afraid she won’t be able to go through with it._

_The rubat crystal adorned ring still gleams in the light of their room. She uses the force to open the door before delicately pulling off the band, taking his hand one last time and putting it in his palm, closing his fingers over it. Looking up at him, she retracts her hand from his and tries not to let her watery eyes get the best of her. “Just go, Quinn. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”_

_Something finally breaks in him, his sad eyes turning into orbs of acceptance. He turns, leaving their shared room and she finally realeases a breath she didn’t know she had been holding. Her finger feels…lighter, but her heart so much heavier now. Tears well up in her eyes as her surroundings blur._

_It’s too much._

_“Business before pleasure, my lord. I’ve heard these liasions rarely last.”_

_It’s all too much._

Now, she isn’t sure what to feel anymore as she tries not to cry into the surely bloodstained fur of her companion. Quinn’s name still makes her feel a tinge of anxiety, as a shiver runs down her spine. Is that why she’d flirted with Theron? Because it made her feel better with something she couldn’t have? That was what had lead her into this mess in the first place, playing with fire when she knew it wouldn’t last.

Theron was nothing like Quinn, not nearly as uptight, but just as infuriating when trying to flirt with him. Maybe…maybe if she could just get past this fear of anyone, anyone to let into her heart again.

If it didn’t bother her so much, leaving her mind open for the Barsen'thor to work together with her. Afraid that now that Theron knew her intentions, that he’d use it against her in the future.

But she doesn’t want to let go.


	3. Confrontation - Rishi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tri'ama and Pierce hunt down those calling them pirates. Naji and Nadia lie in wait for those that have challenged them. Lana and Theron realize this may have been a bad idea.

**TRI'AMA_RISHI**.

“If I hear one more person refer to me as a Howling Tempest gang leader, I will not hesitate to stab them through.” Tri'ama deadpans, just loud enough so that anyone nearby could hear. Pierce stifles a chuckle as some of the pirates look away quickly from her gold tinged glare. The blonde sith was already tired of the pirate infested planet, and being considered one was infuriating. Being feared wasn’t horrible, but if she was going to be feared, she was going to be feared for her status as a Sith lord, not some wayward gang leader.

Rishi was…interesting. Whatever vision she’d got to send her here was about to be shoved to the very back corners of her mind and she’d just wait to see what occurred because of it. After two years of being driven up the walls by the incompetent dark council (moreso by Darth Nox, but she digressed), she was ready to give up and hunt down the blonde Sith to get on with this Revanite business. She’d surprisingly had more fun then than wallowing in memories, alcohol and dealing with less than intelligent political leaders. The smell of salty water was settling into her bones and the near constant chatter of squatters and criminals alike nearly made her force choke one of those damned monkey lizards if their owners weren’t holding onto them.

Damn those infuriating laughs of the tiny bastards.

The new armor helped with the heat of the planet itself though. The heavy armor that she typically donned on adventures proved to be too much within even an hour of being on planet, and she’d immediatly switched it out for a hooded half shirt, sleeveless, with a thinner pair of armored pants and clunky but breathable boots. Anyone one this planet with half a brain would steer clear of her anyways, so her midriff would be fine.

Had it been three years ago, she was sure she probably would’ve gotten at least a wolf whistle from Pierce, but the man had been surprisingly silent on her new look. Protective, even. Her haircut would have to wait until much later, as the blonde strands were beginning to inch down the nape of her neck and stick there. Tied back with a silk band, she’d had to lower her hood once she’d found some inch of shade and remove her respirator just to relieve herself of the pent up heat in her body. Zykken’s information to find whoever did have said information on her was going to take a lot more than just her willpower to get done. She’d sent it to Vette to look it over, then extending it to Pierce, but the three of them couldn’t make heads or tails of the intel. Her mind kept wandering to the person who was supposed to be good at these things, good with the insane amount of aurebesh that needed to be decoded, and it was hard to keep those thoughts at bay. The datapad, well, that was another story entirely.

And the Red Hulls. Some cannibalistic gang that apparently had also recently arrived on Rishi. Only days prior before she had landed, something about them had flared up and they were the literal talk of the small town. Some were beginning to gossip that the two new gangs would eventually fight each other, and at this point, she wouldn’t exactly stand down if it meant they’d accept she wasn’t a gang leader. Hell, those in the cantina when she killed Gorro still didn’t believe her, even after she’d killed him by throwing him against and a wall and then progressing to snap his neck with just a twist of her fingers. People here were either stupid, or blind. Or both, if she was being honest. Gutter trash didn’t always have brain cells rattling around in those skulls of theirs.

Guzzling down another unidentifiable drink (assured at force choking range that it wouldn’t kill her and-please let me down-replenshing electrolytes and hydrating-yes please let me down ), she swiped at her forehead to keep the sweat from dripping into her eyes again. Looking over, she jabbed an elbow at her companion, “Aren’t you dying in that pack of armor, Pierce?”

He didn’t immediatly answer (a bad sign, Vette had been rather unresponsive while they were on Tatooine and though she’d reassured her, the blue twi'lek had passed out a half an hour later. The same with… _him_ ), and she forced a bottle of the blue liquid into his hands, “I’ll be fine, m'lord.” He finally responded after chugging down the contents and looking visibly relieved. Most would assume she was ruthless and vile with everyone, but even the literal hulk of muscle had carved out a place in her heart. She’d rather not have him collapse on her because of heat exhaustion.

“We can always head back to the Fury. It’s been a long day, and there’s no reason to force ourselves to stay out here when there’s nothing to be found.” She admits, the sun beginning to set over the shanty town as she disposes of the bottle and stands from her perch on the barrel. “Whatever’s out here can be hunted down tomorrow if it truly is that much of an issue.”

He chuckles darkly, “You were the one who forced us out here. Sure it’ll cool down once the bloody sun is out of the way,” he pauses, most likely because she’s reclipped her respirator on and raises an eyebrow, “that’s if you want to, m'lord.”

She rolls her eyes at the formality. At one point, she saw it as a sign of power, having people respect her and be so absolutely fearful they always added her title, but there wasn’t really a need for someone like Pierce to continue grovelling at her feet in such a manner. Well, maybe not grovelling (he pressed her buttons as often as Vette did, but those two were the only in the galaxy allowed to do so), but something closer to begrudging respect that she didn’t enjoy. It was just, too close to the things _he_ used to say. “If that’s how you want to do it, then we’ll stay out tonight, _Ash_.”

The corners of his mouth quirk up into a bit of smile, one of the few times she’s ever referred to him by even an inkling of his first name. They continue walking along for a bit, one hand always on one of her sabers before she can hear a crier droid clanking around the boardwalk. Stopping Pierce abruptly, she can just barely make out the droid’s buzzing speech, _“The Red Hulls have issued a challenge to the Howling Tempest gang! In an alleyway tonight, you may even find the two duking it out over Raider’s Cove! Who will come out on top and really rule the Cove?”_

“You were challenged?” He asks and she gives him a half shrug before turning to him, clearly even unsure of what he was talking about, and then her eyes were looking skywards at a building before smirking at the lieutenant. He sighs, “Leg up, eh?”

He does so, crouching down so she can climb over him to find a handhold to climb up the building, much like the small beats that stole every shiny thing they came across. Among the dizzying array of streets they could get lost in, it’d be easier just to scout the streets and find a general area of where the thing was clankering around. It was harder than expected, but easier than it had been once on Dromound Kaas when she’d attempted to scale a building to find a newly-appointed lord who thought it smart to disrespect Vette. Holding a hand over her eyes, she dangled precariously off the building with one hand and scouted the cove. While none stood out immediatly to her, something glinted harshly against the sun, and she had found her target. “Three klicks north, we can catch up if we hurry.”

“Three? How can you hear that bloody thing then?” Pierce questions gruffly, just barely catching her as she slides down the building, air knocked out of him. “Sure there isn’t one closer trying to blast our ears off?”

“There are so many alleys in this damn town, I’d rather go get the one I saw and pray it’s still there.” She says, nodding towards her sleek silver speeder bike. He climbs on first, and then her behind him as he revvs the engine.

He chuckles, throwing a look over his shoulder as she hooked one leg over the seat, “You gonna hold on this time?”

“If I must.” She says, rolling her eyes. She wonders if he can tell how comfortable she’s gotten around the soldier, willing to put her arms around his waist and lean into him. This, this isn’t love. She knows that, though the struggling had only gotten worse after _he_ had left. He was willing to let her sleep with him, but never pushed her any further than necessary. Let her cry, let her even take advantage of him at one point in some drunken fit she’s forced out of her mind. She wasn’t quick to say it didn’t mean anything, it did, it meant she trusted him enough not to throw him out the air lock, but did admit she didn’t have feelings for him. A small part of his mind had always been closed off to her, but at that moment she couldn’t sense any repressed part of him. No regret, no sadness. Just…raw relief. Relieved because this meant she was regaining sense and was becoming _herself_ again.

Not defined by someone.

Not defined by a hyphenated last name.

Just, her.

It left them much closer than they once had been, and less likely for him to get thrown through a bulkhead at every scathing remark he made. And every Watcher like position she made him take in retaliation. If the man hated one thing, it was being stuck on the ship and watching the action from above. To imagine the things that would’ve transpired if she’d given her heart to the lieutenant instead of the captain, how things probably still would’ve ended badly, just much more violent.

A thought for another night.

-

**NAJI_RISHI.**

“I didn’t ever challenge anyone to gang war…” Naji mused, pulling her robes tighter around herself, as if that would help hide her in shadows of the dark town more than the force stealth would. Nadia shifted at her side, growing bored with the hiding technique. “If I didn’t, who did?”

“I’m not sure, master. I don’t think there’s a signal force signature out here that would give them away either.” Nadia remarks. It’s a tad spooky speaking to a literal shadow, considering she couldn’t even see her, or see her facial expressions. The darkness of Raider’s Cove wasn’t helping either, and it was a tad difficult to even know where anyone was. A dark furred Cathar had managed to sneak up behind her on the way to the alley way, and he was lucky he was just out of pole saber range. “You’re really still keeping up this pirate thing though? It’d be easier to just abandon it all together.”

“At this moment, we don’t have anything to go on. It is easier to simply wait for the Howling Tempest’s to show up and we can question them.” Naji whispers, standing from her sitting position. It was still hot, but thankfully much cooler than it had been days before when they’d landed. She and Nadia had to hide in the cantinas to keep them from passing out. Jedi robes were, unsurprisingly, heavy and didn’t leave much room for air. The two, keeping from garnering any unwanted attention, ended up in overcoats and looser tan clothing. Hiding the sabers had been harder, but the darkness of any room compared to the sun outside was enough to hide them. They ran into less questions than expected, other than the occasional ‘so who are you running from?’ from the occasional spacer.

_“Be careful, please?” Felix had asked her once she was halfway off the Polaris, still a tad frustrated that he wouldn’t take her with him to Rishi. Well, he acted as if he were unaffected, but he was pouting on the inside. “Dunno what I’d do if you died when I was away.”_

_“I won’t die, Felix. But if it makes you feel better, I promise to be careful.” She says, rubbing the back of his hands with her thumbs. Calloused, roughened by years of war. But something about his eyes softened her insides to jelly. Dark, chocolate brown skin in comparison to her own sun-kissed pale hues, hazel orbs in comparison to her own azul irises. They were different, force blind, force sensitive, but she enjoyed their differences, and to think she’d let a pirate take her away from her soldier. “I love you.” She whispers, pressing a kiss to his lips before Nadia appears at the top of the stairs._

_“I love you too, Naj.” Nadia passes by him, and he ruffles her white mop of hair, “Same goes for you Nadia. Be careful.”_

_“Alright, alright.” She says, trying to brush his hand away from her hair. While Nadia wouldn’t say it, and still had a place in her heart for the memory of her father, she and Felix had a hard time not regarding the girl as their daughter. “Whatever you say,_ Felix. _” Nadia deadpans._

 _She nearly laughs herself, as_ dad _was just on the tip of her tongue as Felix waved a final goodbye to the two women._

Still spooked her that someone had framed her as the leader of a cannibalistic gang even before she’d arrived. Sent a shiver down her core just listening to the rumors that quickly spread about her. Eating people? She wasn’t anywhere near a picky eater, but the wide berth that had been given by most of the pirates and terrified looks behind their stoic appearances made her rethink going vegan.

Whoever really did go around eating people, she’d hunt down another day.

She heard the engine of speeder getting louder and louder, then abruptly stopping in front of the alley that she and Nadia had been hiding in. Pressing what she thought was the girl flatter against the wall, she was able to catch a larger man, decked out in black armor, making his way into the alley, rifle drawn. Others, the drunk night crowd she’d learned over the last few days, were slower to move away than the mostly sober ones who darted into shops or ran further into the alleys.

The woman who trailed after him, a woman on a mission with a lightsaber drawn and a red kyber crystal igniting it, made her blood run cold. No, no it couldn’t be. It had to be some other Sith who just happened to be on Rishi at the same time as her. But one wavering gaze to where she and Nadia were hiding in plain sight, was enough to confirm that the Wrath had less than benevolent intentions of being here.

She pretended not to see her. Reaching out in the force, Naji could only feel a wall. Something between the force and her emotions, something she couldn’t reach through. But it was ill-timed, because while attempting to do so, she had taken her mind off the Wrath long enough for the woman to pick up the roof of a stall and hurl it towards their current position.

Nadia just barely yanked her out of the way as the wooden roof crashed against the side of a building, and for a moment her ears were ringing as wood rained down on her and her padawan. “If you challenged me, show your face!” The Sith called out, all too close to where she and Nadia had just escaped near death. “I know you’re here.”

 _Hide your thoughts_ , _hide your thoughts_ , she tried to reassure herself. The other girl couldn’t see her, but reaching out to her in the force, they were quick regain their footing. Chunks of the roof came again, but Nadia forced up a barrier just in time, and Naji was quick to wrestle with the chunks from the Wrath. No longer invisible to the Sith and her companion, shots were fired off by the soldier as Naji managed to multi-task a bit and force a basket from a stand in his direction. With the Sith distracted, the chunks were in her control and she threw them back in their direction.

The two were quick, she’d admit. Too fast. Too soon, the Wrath had retaken the situation, and the soldier ducked out of the way, firing off a couple shots before his companion threw a chunk at the shield. Nadia was beginning to struggle, and as much as she tried to keep the woman distracted, she was beginning to fixate on the girl, growing closer and closer to the two before Naji could do anything. The wood was beginning to pound on their little safety bubble, and the gold light it was giving off was beginning to waver as Nadia’s willpower did as well.

They had both gotten rusty over the last few years of being off the front lines. Now, they were paying for it.

“You wanted a challenge?” The wrath nearly purrs, before throwing one large panel of _something_ from behind her. “Have one!”

Nadia ducks out of the way, rolling on her side as Naji puts up her own force shield, before something most literally pierces her shoulder, and she crumples in pain. Blood is beginning to gush from the wound, and her hand comes away sticky as she tries to figure what’s happened. Eyes trained to the ground as she readjusts herself to be on her knees, her eyes trail upwards to the scantily dressed Sith Lord, and a quick reach with the force finds the rifle toting man now behind her that she hadn’t seen before.

She’s about to say something scathing before a fruit of some sort gets thrown -more like force thrown- at the Sith, and it clocks her in the head, a grunt escaping her as she can almost feel Nadia’s giddy thoughts. Something she hadn’t taught the girl, but it nearly made her laugh as anger flashed through the woman’s eyes.

She raises one arm, and her heart stops when she hears struggling from her padawan, from her _Nadia._ Coughs, ragged breaths, as she holds her shoulder, hissing through her teeth from the pain. “Let her go!” Naji coughs out, red staining her pale fingertips.

The Wrath quirks an eyebrow, before Naji hears a slam and sees the woman throw her arm out to the side. Nadia hits the wall with a sickening snap, and Naji is about to have string of explatives leave her mouth before she hears more footsteps coming from the opposite direction. “That is enough!” With an Imperial accent.

Just barely turning her head, she can see green and black clad figure along with a red flash before she manages to stand herself. First, she rushes to Nadia, who groans first as her blue eyes crack open. Nothing seems to be immediatly broken, which fills her with undeniable anger. Fury, nearly, at the Wrath for hurting the girl.

_There is no chaos, there is harmony._

_There will be chaos if she hurts Nadia again,_ she thinks to herself.

“This wasn’t the most conventional way to get them here, but I didn’t think it’d lead to a fight!” Theron’s voice, raspier than when they’d first met, but turning from Nadia’s rising form, it’s most definitely the SIS agent and his Sith companion. Her outfit had changed, but her blonde hair was still present. “Maybe you should’ve rethought this whole Sith and Jedi thing, Lana.”

“I believed that the Barsen'thor would calm the situation first, though it seems the Wrath didn’t give her the chance.” Lana rubs her temples before turning to her, “Naji, it’s been a while.”

“It has.” She grimaces, as the Wrath doesn’t make eye contact with her. “You couldn’t have sent a holo?”

“Discreet methods, I apologize for not making our intentions clear.” Lana turns back to the Wrath, “You attacked the Barsen'thor?”

“In my defense, I was challenged by the leader of the Red Hulls at these coordinates. I didn’t recognize them, fought them because of it. I wanted answers for why I was here and why someone pretended I was a gang leader.” She responds, crossing her arms as her soldier reholsters his rifle. “You would have answers for me, wouldn’t you?”

“We had to lure you here under false pretenses, but Lana thought it’d be smart to bring you both. Something about Revan being too dangerous to deal with, especially with only one of you, that we needed both.” Theron responds, “This…wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“We’re not the most predictable people either, Shan. That excited to see me?” And there it was, the same old Wrath with her flirtatous nature. That, hadn’t changed even though her companion had. The burly man didn’t seem to react at all, possibly they were weren’t involved as she’d previously assumed.

“I..look, Naji will she be alright?” Theron asks, as Lana continues conversing with the Wrath. He hisses through his teeth once he gets a good look at her. “Will you be okay?”

“Nothing some kolto and meditation can’t fix, Theron.” She shakes her head and allows herself to smile, “It’s good to see you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I headcanon that Pierce's first name was Ashley? Yes. Why? Because I saw someone on the forums say something about it and I liked it and proceeded to use it for my own gain.
> 
> Oh and if I hadn't romanced Malavai first, I definitely would've gone with the flirt options for Pierce. Bioware is doing me an injustice by not letting me have a romantic relationship with him. Tri'ama, however sees him as her confidant instead.


	4. Decisions - Rishi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nadia and Naji realize they're working with a psychopath with a past. Naji learns some Sith aren't so bad.

**NAJI_RISHI.**

"Do we stop her?" Nadia whispers under her breath, concern written all over her face and wrapping both women in an anxious blanket, as the two can feel every death the Wrath had caused as a ripple through the force. It's terrifying, as they'd only just begun their trip on the island and already there was fire after fire to put out, trying to get slaves off the island, and also babysitting their new comrade, "We were here to save people, not kill them."

"She's...surprisingly not killing everything in sight. She's being methodical about who she kills, the slavers." Naji admits, careful not to let her robes drag in the bloody path her new...ally is leaving on the ground. Another shot fired, and another body falls to the ground with a hard, lifeless thump. This time murdered by her companion, who smiles wickedly behind his rifle, "We should be lucky it's not us and the slaves she's chosen as her targets."

"I'll...try and remember that..."

An unsure frown passes her face, crinkling her young face in a way that makes Naji's insides cold, before they catch up with the woman. A fire burns beneath her eyes, kicking a body away with the tip of her durasteel boot. Smears of alien and human blood alike decorate her uncovered torso, stains on her porcelain white skin. Another slaver writhers on the ground in pain, still just barely alive and attempting to shimmy away, and with a flick of her wrist, his neck bends at a horrifying angle. A loud snap is audible just as it happens, and Naji is quick to try and cover Nadia's eyes, but the sound of a pained whimper is still audible.

The woman has the nerve to _chuckle_ at her padawan's expense, the light of her red kyber crystal resheathed in her lightsaber's hilt, and she turns over her shoulder. Her face is surprisingly free of scars (for a Sith, she's still extremely pale, even on the god-forsaken jungle planet. Naji would've thought the woman would've seen some sun at the very least), except for one that runs along her neck that she can see from the neckpiece, and blonde strands of hair hang down in front of her face, her surprisingly cerulean eyes with flecks of gold near the pupils staring back out from the curtain of hair, "Afraid of a little blood?"

"Do you have to kill everything that moves?" Naji asks, hardening her voice to seem more assertive. She'd let the Wrath take the reins for most of the mission on Rishi (something about the native species made her deathly ill, so any choice that the Wrath made she'd have to accept until they made it out of the Cove's denser places, or at least until Lana had time to find her something to counteract the allergies), but she wouldn't let the continued violence be detrimental to their mission, "We're here to free people, not kill them."

"I thought this is what you squishy-hearted Jedi liked. These slavers tortured others who couldn't protect themselves, and now they've met their deserving end." The Wrath quips in response, rolling one of her sabers over her wrist as she uses a teasing voice deserving of a reprimanded child, "Am I not serving your petty Code?"

" _No._ " Naji grumbles, crossing her arms as the Wrath shrugs. She even had the nerve to comment on her Code, which didn't improve her opinion of the woman. This wasn't justice, or anything even near what the Jedi followed. Mass murder wasn't their way, "No it doesn't."

"Oh, and what would?" She narrows her eyes into yellow slits, angry or even possibly annoyed by her, "You killed the Colonel on Rakata Prime, didn't you? Wasn't that for justice as well? An arbitrary decision, don't you believe?"

Naji nearly flares at the notion. The death of the colonel hadn't been intentional, if she could let him live, she would've. Whether he was a traitor or not, he should've lived, even if only for questioning. The blood that dripped from her hands, she still hadn't fully forgiven herself for. What Theron got into trouble for that she had done, what should've been hers to shoulder. Something she should've admitted to the Council. Even if she had lost her position, the emotional loss was worse, having the two go into hiding, "That wasn't justice." She whispers.

It was self-defense.

Her chest pangs just at the thought. He'd shot her square in the chest, and had she not had enough adrenaline coursing through her veins, she wouldn't have been able to pull herself up and stab him through to keep him from getting another one off. Felix had carried her back, believing the worst, and after the trek through the rest of the planet, Naji was already sure she wouldn't make it. The scar was still raised and rather angry, even after the years past.

Just looking at the wound made her sick. Still visible just above her bra and below, it had been an ugly burn from a blaster especially, but the high powered rifle Darok carried, especially at such short distance, had made an already horrible wound worse. She was in and out of consciousness after being in a kolto tank for half a week, and struggled to breathe for months afterwards. Reminding her of the fight that had caused it didn't bode well for the warrior.

"Bah, apologies m'lord but the sun's going down. 'Fraid if we stay much longer they'll regroup and make this mission a lot harder on us." The gruff voice of the soldier snaps her out of her thoughts, and Nadia puts a reassuring hand on her shoulder, "You think they're organized enough to have snipers?"

A lingering look from the Sith before she turns to her companion, "With how easy they fall, I doubt it Pierce. But if we must, it wouldn't hurt to kill a few more while we wait for the Jedi to finish."

As if it's only _their_ responsibility to free the slaves. As if she's only along for the ride and they're inconviencing her. She can see quite a few more slave cages just over the ridge, and she deflates her rigid spine once the Wrath is gone. Out of sight, sadly not out of mind. Running a hand through her hair, she turns over her shoulder to look at Nadia properly, "I apologize, this isn't the way our missions were supposed to go. I didn't believe the bloodshed would be so heavy."

"You're doing your best, master. You've never directed me wrong before, and you aren't now. This isn't your fault." Nadia says, her blue eyes twinkling in the setting sun. Her white hair is pulled up, severely away from her face, a delicate but sturdy braided bun atop her head. She's so much older than she was when Naji had first met the girl, but the same childish innocence remains sometimes. Not today, it seemed. She seems worried for her master, her training robes traded for armored pieces requisitioned from the Temple. So much has changed, so quickly.

For the millionth time in her life, Naji's afraid of what will come next. Revan _-yes, Revan-_ was rising again, a cult in his name running around and committing dangerous missions left and right. It was supposed to be a simple happily ever after, especially after the mending of the Rift Alliance and continued hunt for remaining Children, but even she could sense the cloud of danger hanging over the Republic when she entered the operations room that fateful day. Nothing would ever be the same again, and she was afraid that would warrant a loss of everyone that become important to her.

She wouldn't let anyone take the crew of _the Polaris_ from her, not if she didn't die first.

"I suppose there isn't much we can do about the Wrath..." Nadia trails off, rolling her eyes, "Are all Sith like her? Bloodthirsty with no regard for other people?"

"You'd be best asking a real Sith." Naji responds, trying to smile, "The slaves are safe for the moment, but I think they'd be happier on a transport, don't you believe?"

-

It's late into the night when the four return to the hidden alleyway, Pierce (as she's learned the bulky soldier's name), makes notes with the Wrath of places to enjoy the night instead of sleeping (she's beginning to think the Wrath is really involved with him and is playing Theron like a chindinkalu), and her nose is beginning to itch again. She's afraid Theron and Lana are gone before she hears the tinkling laughter of a woman. The Wrath has a hand on one of her sabers and Pierce picks up his rifle before Naji puts up a hand to stop in front of them with a tired and entirely distrustful look on her face. 

"Theron, Lana?" Naji asks, peaking inside before their procession makes themselves known, "I apologize for being out so late, but the mission's been complete. There are quite a few former slaves safely returned to freedom tonight." She says proudly, a tight smile on her face once they're aware of their presence. Theron is leaning against a holoprojector while Lana is standing nearby, ready to debrief them on their progress. Albeit, both of them are smiling as if sharing an inside joke, but it's good to see them after such a long day.

"And plenty of their dead captors to go along with it." The Wrath interjects, making her presence rather loud as she pushes through Nadia and Naji, a smirk on her face and a well-hidden look of horror on Theron's face as he registers just what her triumphant declaration means, "A successful mission after all."

"We'll..go with that." The SIS agent responds, turning his attention from her to Naji (almost hopefully), "Chatter's picked up though, whatever you two did caused a major stir among the Nova Blades."

"I'm glad." Naji says, nodding as she turns to the Sith woman standing nearby, "Then we'll be able to finish up with the Blades soon then?"

"Not exactly." Lana responds, "Though we are growing closer to attacking the Aggressor soon. It's late, and it's been a long day. Better we finish this debrief in the morning, when all of us are of right mind. Agreed?"

"I'd second that!" Nadia pipes up, a tired smile on her face. Lana seems taken aback for a moment (Nadia isn't typically shy, but this has been the first word she's exchanged with anyone but Naji while here), before a softer smile replaces her surprise, "Maybe we can finally head back to the Polaris?" She asks hopefully.

"I suppose finding some food off-planet wouldn't be horrible. I'll call Zenith and have him join me tomorrow, so you can relax and find something, okay?" She asks, once the Wrath strikes up another conversation with Theron, effectively distracting her. She presses a light kiss to her forehead, Nadia giggling and then sighing in relief as Naji floods their force bond with happiness. She's tired, exhausted even, and a few nights away from Rishi would take care of the problem and get her back into high spirits, "Don't do anything stupid while I'm away, understood?"

Nadia nods happily, before questioning, "Aren't you coming back with me?"

She throws a look over her shoulder before frowning, "I need to be on-planet in case something happens and they need me. Give my regards to everyone, yes?"

"Felix is going to be disappointed." Nadia says, nearly naggingly, "Why don't you bring him out instead of Zenith?"

"I don't want Felix hurt anymore than he already is, and Zenith is going absolutely stir-crazy without any other missions to pass the time. You know how he gets." She and Nadia laugh good-naturedly, knowing the sniper rather well. "I do hope Bisauur doesn't miss him too much."

"It's his birthday soon, you know. She's going to want to spend it with him, even if she doesn't directly say anything." Naji has to hold back from rolling her eyes, her padawan (recently turned Sage) was exceptionally horrible at hiding her feelings for the sniper, and it was painfully obvious at times. No one made jokes about it, but because she took the Code so seriously (though she had to explain multiple times that it was still okay she was married to Felix), she acted as if her advances were simply friendly instead of having romantic intentions behind them.

"I would take Qyzen, but he's out on a hunt right now. And Tharan, well you know he's up to something in the cargo bay. I'd rather he not bring whatever chemicals he's collected here." Naji gives her a look that says 'I'm your master and that's final' before lightly embracing the girl, "I'll see you soon. Sleep and eat well, and be careful on your way out."

Nadia offers her one last smile and wave before heading out of the safehouse, and she can sense Lana approaching, "Barsen'thor."

"Beniko." She says softly, as not to make the woman presume she had any malicious intent, "I am genuinely glad you and Theron are alright. I do apologize for what happened all those years ago."

"Why would you apologize?" Lana asks, almost dumbfounded, "What happened on Rakata Prime wouldn't have been easily prevented as it was. I understand what you did, and I wouldn't blame you for...well this." She says, waving a hand around to the dark but still humid safehouse, "If anything, you and the Wrath did us a favor by doing so. Arkous and Darok were dispatched before they could turn anyone else or do any more damage inside their respective factions. In essence, that was a win."

"I still...I still feel just a tad horrible about you both. Having to uproot your lives because of something I and the Wrath did?" Naji knows she's delving into topics she shouldn't be discussing with a Sith lord, but the boundaries seem to have already fallen. Lana may have been Sith, but they were also allies for the time being. It didn't mean she wasn't still extremely uneasy about it.

"It was unfortunate, yes. But Jakarro and C2-D4 didn't have family. They weren't leaving anyone, not anyone we knew about. Theron...well I figure you can assume better about him than I can, and as for myself..." she trails off, the conversation inherently finished. They didn't have anyone to leave behind, "We let you both continue living your lives because you were much higher up in the ranks of both factions than we were, you were more productive in the long run. You both had crews to go back to who depended on you for your ship and to survive. In the Wrath's case, she has family on Dromound Kaas who would be suspicious if she suddenly went missing. I'm sure you have your connections as well."

"It was more theoretically plausible and safer if you both were out of commission rather than us." Naji finishes, wringing out her hands, "It doesn't make me feel much better if I'm being honest."

"I didn't say it had to." It has a rougher bite than she thought it would, that's the cold hard truth of what happened, as whether it made her feel good wasn't supposed to be Lana's concern. The woman pauses, sighing, "Though it is nice to operating with someone other than Theron and Jakarro again. It gets a little stuffy with just men."

"I can imagine." Naji smiles, and they share a laugh, before she queues up another answer, "Nadia. That's my padawan's name. I sensed your curiousity earlier, though you hide it extremely well."

Yet again, Lana is taken aback, surprised by her observant nature. "She's pleasant to be around, smart, crafty. She likes you. You've met Lieutenant Iresso, he accompanied me on Rakata Prime." Like always, she almost says _my husband_ as she always introduces him, before figuring Lana doesn't need to know just yet, "You'll meet Zenith tomorrow I suppose, he's a strong personality, and it takes quite a bit to get used to, believe me." As soon as the words are out of her mouth, she wonders if she should tell her that Zenith may not work well with her or the Wrath. Stars, that's even worse, they'd be working rather closely with the Wrath, and it was hard to hide she was staunchly Imperial.

"If you're concerned about his alliance with us, I'm sure there's something Theron could say to keep her here while you and him work alone." A shiver runs up her spine, it's rather spooky that if Naji isn't actively thinking about it, others have an easy time reading her. Not even her mind, just _her_. Her force signature is easy to decipher, which she should probably put a better lock on.

"No, If I lie to Zenith, what kind of person would I be?" Naji asks, "He'll work with both of us, begrudgingly if anything."

"If you say so." Lana says, residing to accept and drop the conversation, "You didn't return with her?"

Naji shrugs lightly, "I'll stay here for the time being, but believe me, as soon as you give me a break you won't see me for weeks."


	5. Green - Rishi Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tri'ama deals with the longing for Theron, and the scars her past relationship left on her. Theron realizes this Sith is human too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for unwanted touching.

Tri'ama lies in wait, after questioning Lana where they were staying (the answer being that somewhere was the deciding answer, they had work to do before the debrief but thank you for the concern, wrath), she and Pierce had returned to the Fury. After questioning the man on the selection of cantinas and clubs in the area (unsurprisingly, pirates loved booze so she was fine in that department), she’d found one that was quiet enough to carry on conversation and got to work. She figured she had some time before the two headed out to their respective sleep arrangements, so she managed to fish out a tighter, backless suit and heeled combat boots. The only slightly bedazzled utility belt and singular saber finished off the look. A slather of red against her pale lips and brushing her hair forward instead of back made her at least look alive for the time being (the sun just couldn’t kiss her delicately like it had everyone else, could it?). Hopefully the lights in the cantina would offset it.

She hesitates, just for a moment. Fear captures her as she gazes into the mirror, her lithe body staring back. Maybe she shouldn’t do this. It’s too tight, too accentuating. Scars run along her back in a mess of cris-crossed half healed jagged lines. So red against her skin, and she tries not to accidentally fuel a panic attack just from thinking about the situations she’d been in to warrant the gaining of the scars. Every single cut, every single stab wound, every single blaster bolt…

Maybe he wouldn’t even care, wouldn’t even look up from his datapad. Maybe it’s too much, too much to be out again. To so readily accept love again. She hasn’t shown this much skin to anyone in literal years. She’s pale, too pale. She’s strong, but what if Theron doesn’t like it? Her hair hasn’t been washed in weeks, and she doesn’t have time to now. The red of her lips is too bright, her eyes too blue. Her arms too long, her legs too long, her chest too flat.

Maybe this is just a bad idea.

“You aren’t going to let him win, are you? Let him push you around even after he’s gone, right?” She jumps when she hears Vette’s voice, the door opened with her and Pierce in lounge clothes in front of it as she has her mini pity party in the mirror. Her cheeks flare with heat once she realizes they’ve been present for a while, “You’re going out with that cute agent!”

“I-Vette! I told you to stop coming in here unannounced!” She growls, frustrated with her friend turned adoptive sister, if not also herself for being so tied up and neglecting her.

“ _You_ also said I had explicit permission because you’re horrible at taking care of yourself.” Vette says, crossing her arms before her expression grows serious as she steps inside, Pierce behind her, “Quinn’s been gone for four years almost. Four whole years. I know it’s hard to lose someone, really hard. Especially someone like him. He hurt you, and he hurt you bad. And for that, I’ll hurt him _worse_ if I ever see his ugly mug again.”

“She’s right m'lord. Man has guts if he shows his face around here.” Pierce speaks up, but Vette hugs her profusely, “He’ll proceed to lose ‘em too.”

“So y'know what? You’re gonna go out tonight as show that man why they call you the Wrath. You’re gonna be the best version of yourself that you’ll ever be, and so what if he’s not _him_? He’s probably better.” Vette says surely.

“ _Anyone_ , is better than that bootlicker.” Pierce cringes, before gently picking up her chin with a single finger from where she’d been staring at the shiny footwear that makes her at least a few inches shorter than Theron, “You’ll be fine. Suggest you get going before he disappears though.”

“I…” She’s so taken aback by the kinder words of her crew that she can barely hold back her own tears, “Thank you. Both of you.”

“Just doing what we do best, _my lord_.” Vette says, nearly cackling at her use of the title, “Now go get him!”

-

It’s still humid as she clutches her holocom, making for a speedy walk back to the safehouse. She’d decided because of the neighborhood, she’d leave any shiny clutches on the ship and make sure her saber was well within view of any passerby. A confident look here or there, or if any even got close to put a hand over her saber was enough to get most to back off. It was odd enough to be caught with only one of her weapons, and being anxious for more than one reason made her extremely jumpy.

She’d specifically come out to call Theron, but hadn’t gotten a response. Slipping into the alleyway again, she can’t sense that Lana’s still in the safehouse (though she hides her presence rather well most of the time), so she saunters inside with the intent of finding him alone. It takes a moment for her to even see anything inside, being so dark though illuminated by holos. There he is, leaned back in a chair, poring over a datapad, turned away from her. She’s quick to let the force cover her, if only for a few seconds before her concentration wanes any thinner.

“Theron?” She questions before he nearly jumps, holding it back rather well if she says so herself, “You didn’t answer.”

“You called?” He asks, picking up his holo and evidently seeing it blinking with an unanswered call, “Seems you did. Need something?”

“I don’t know…” She says, coming closer to lean against the desk he has his feet up on. His eyes wander for a moment, a quick once over, but enough to make her raise an eyebrow, “See something you like?”

“Do you actually need something or are you just here to tease?” He asks, dropping his eyes back to the datapad, but his cheeks just a tad more flushed than usual, “ _Some_ of us have work to do.”

Tri'ama rolls her eyes, crossing her arms before plucking the pad out of his hands. He grunts, displeased with the turn of events, “Fine, you have my attention.”

“Good.” She says firmly, placing it down on the table next to her as she crosses one leg over the other, and trying to find a place to put her hand, wrapping a strand of hair around her left index finger, “It’s been a long day, Shan. I suggest a drink.”

“You didn’t want to drink alone?” He asks. She has half a mind to just give up here and now, get out of this getup and watch a holo with Vette on the Fury. It’d be better than embarassing herself in front of a potential ally. She shifts uncomfortably, unsure of what to say next. She’d at least expected a direct no instead of a half question. She’s getting ready to give up, but he takes his feet down from the table and sits up a bit straighter, “Y'know what, I don’t have anything better to do. Might as well.”

She freezes, for a moment just staring back into his surprisingly very, very deep green eyes. _Stars, who let him exist?_

“Uh…lead the way.” He responds, before her brain begins functioning again. She nods, considering grabbing his hand and having some obscure reasoning if he asked, but instead she sets a steady pace out the door. Before realizing he can see her back clearly and she flushes again. What is he thinking? He’s so closed off, she can’t even begin to prod at his mind. Is it gross? Is it weird? Strange? Scary? Gah, why did she go out like this again?

It isn’t far to the cantina, but at a brisk walking pace it’s as if they didn’t even leave the safehouse before she can hear the pounding music from the floor beneath them. Not throwing a look over her shoulder (what if he thinks she’s fishing for approval? she’s approving _him_ , not the other way around!), she descends into the bright but also dim basement, and sliding into a seat at the bar. He sits down next to her, his attention clearly not on her at first before he orders something she can’t hear. Without waiting for him to ask, she orders something fruity herself. The nautolon pads away, and as inconspicously as she can, she moves the stool closer to Theron’s. He doesn’t flinch, unsuprisingly, but she leans an elbow against the bar and puts her head in her hand, “It’s such a nice night out, but of course you’d be working.”

“Didn’t have any other plans for tonight. We _are_ hunting a dangerous cult that’s trying to end both factions as we know it.” She can just barely make out what he’s saying over the music, reading his lips moreso, “Yet you wanted to go out drinking?”

“It can’t be all work no play, Shan. Surely an agent like yourself understands that much.” She says, countering, “There’s a lot ahead, we might as well enjoy ourselves while we can, right?”

“Hmph,” is all she hears in response. Conversation effectively closed, she pouts for a moment. Theron would be harder to break than expected, which was disappointing enough, “Don’t you have anyone else to drink with? The lieutenant? A husband maybe?”

Her mouth hangs open for a moment before she turns away, trying to find an answer for him, “Asking if I’m single, Shan?” In all seriousness, the idea she’d drink with Pierce in any manner other than in a drinking contest (she’d passed out first only once, but they were evenly matched, even with her small stature, at 5"7 no less) was hilarious in itself. And impossible, they were both competitive. Quinn…her chest heaves at that thought, had she ever drank with him during their marriage? Or before?

Now she’s delving into memories she doesn’t want to deal with right at this moment.

“Wasn’t my intention.” He responds, before the nautolon returns with both drinks in hand. Sipping away at her own, relief spreading over her tense muscles as the alcohol begins to work. Still, it would be long until she got to the point of slurring her words, so she wasn’t afraid to finish off the glass and hail for another. Mostly ice.

“The answer is no, to both of those.” She answers, tilting her head to get a better look at him. He has stubble growing, it’s not ugly, rather fitting for the SIS agent in fact. His eyes distract her, and they fascinate her in a way she didn’t think was possibly. There are miscellaneous scars on his face though, and she wonders where they’re from. For some reason, she wants to know everything about him, about who he is, his story. Tri'ama doubts he would ever tell her the true extent of it, but she’s curious who Theron Shan really is.

He catches her staring, she stays. Though her eyes wander away from the smaller details of his face, “Just enjoying the scenery.”

“I-sure.” He opens his mouth as if to say more, but remains quiet as he drinks from his own glass.

Frustrating.

She goes to say something else before she feels someone come up behind her, a draft of air against her exposed back. Turning, at least to keep her back from their view, she finds it to be a rather burly man along with two croonies. Without even asking, he takes her right hand, and kisses it. Rough, he has a lot of wild stubble along his lip, and it makes her shiver. He offers a glance to Theron, who doesn’t look back. She breaks out in a cold sweat, yanking her hand back from him.

“Feisty.” He responds, placing himself directly in between her and Theron, effectively blocking her view of the SIS agent (mistake number one), “I like women that way.”

“Good for you.” She says, her voice hard as she crosses a leg over the other, holding up her head with a hand, “I’m sure there are plenty other women that would be interested.”

“But none are the catch that you are.” He says, caressing her face with a callused hand (mistake number two). His brown eyes bore into her as his blonde hair covers an eye, “A Sith, especially exotic.” He had taken notice of her lightsaber, which she protectively covered with a hand, “Your kind really are something else.”

“That we are.” She answers, grimacing. She narrowly hides a jump out of her seat when someone else’s cool hand runs over her spine, trailing down from her neck, further and further until it reached her belt and stopped (mistake number three). She growls as she turns from the one man to the other, much skinnier one. He raises an eyebrow, as if to challenge her, “And I suggest you get your hands off me before I show you why I am Sith.”

“I don’t know, not many women are as beautiful as you, or human.” The man behind her says, pressing a finger hard onto one of her more recent scars. She grits her teeth, why were they even touching her? Given, it proved her own point of not wearing this jumpsuit ever again, but who even were they? Mysoginistic and xenophobic dumbasses? Probably, “I think you are absolutely gorgeous.”

Both of hands wrap around to her front, and she freezes in her seat once the man’s hands find her chest. For a moment, it’s too much, she can’t act. Her breathing grows faster, her heart pounding in her chest as she tries her best not to yelp, his hands fondling her, “Whoa, Zander. I’d say careful with that one.” The third one says, leaning against a nearby table.

She’s about to be brought to tears. No one is supposed to touch her that way, but for some reason her body won’t respond. She has a flashback to one of the last times she ever let Quinn near her, and she’s shivering. The lights blur, her surroundings grow fuzzy. All she can focus on is Quinn, and this man’s invasive touch.

She’s stuck.

“I’d say you get leave this 'gorgeous’ woman alone.” Someone says, and the man who stands in front of her holds his hands up with a sarcastic smile on his face, and she can only barely make out Theron’s red jacket come around from where he’d been sitting to where the second man stands behind her. He has his blaster trained on the second one, though from the first one’s reaction, he had it on the first one.

“You heard the man, Zander.” And just like that, the touch is gone. Air returns to her lungs, and she regains her senses, “Hands off the merchandise.”

She can feel not only her cheeks, but also her anger flare. All she can see is red, before she can see them both retreating out of her vision. Theron reholsters his blasters as they leave, and she nearly has half a mind to stab them both through. They’re both speechless as she picks up the tab (or tries to, before he throws a down a credit chit and tells the nautolon to keep the change), and leave the cantina. The cooler air of Rishi calms her, but the previous actions of some absolute strangers still leaves her heart pounding.

She wishes she brought a jacket to at least cover her back. Maybe because she’s holding herself strangely, her arms wrapped around her middle with her head down, Theron shuffles off his jacket and hands it to her without a second thought. It’s quite a few sizes too big, but it fits the purpose. She pulls it tight around her shoulders, and continues on after him. Once they reach the mouth of the alleyway, he finally turns to her, a well-hidden bewildered look on his face.

“I-uh…sorry for not realizing what was going on earlier.” He apologizes, rubbing the back of his neck, “Probably should’ve been keeping a better eye out.”

“It’s not your fault.” For some reason, she doesn’t want to meet his eyes at that very moment, afraid if she does she really will cry. But instead, she does stand up straight, afraid to appear weak. Something she definitely was not, “I shouldn’t have worn this to begin with.”

“That’s-”

“It is what it is. People don’t change, Theron.” Even though she likes the jacket (it smells of earthy tones, and possibly even the smallest amount of cologne), she’s determined to appear strong and slips it off from around her shoulders, “I think I’m just going to go back to the Fury. Fighting a cult, right?”

He holds it in his hands for a moment, before looking up at her. “Maybe that’s for the best.” He pauses, “Guess this good night, huh?”

“I’d like to say it was good, but then I’d be lying.” She musters a smile, and he frowns in response, “Sleep well, Shan.”

-

Vette and Pierce are surprised when she comes back, dejected and barely able to walk much further into the Fury past the common area. She’s shaking from her head to her toes, and both of her companions are quick to embrace her as she finally breaks down, tears streaming down her face as she rocks back and forth on her feet.

-

His jacket smells like the iron of blood, but also something flowery and fruity beneath it. He is genuinely upset he didn’t come to her rescue before hand, he’d been so focused on ignoring her advances that he hadn’t known she was in trouble until he’d caught a glimpse of her through the man’s arms.

He rubs his temples, frustrated with himself. This could mean she wouldn’t ever trust him again, for abandoning her at such a time. He kicks himself, before trying to click on his datapad, which is dead (he didn’t plug it in after she’d taken it). His own tired face looks back at him through the reflection, and he leans back in his chair. Maybe sleep wouldn’t be such a horrible idea tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was actually supposed to be a bonus to 'decisions' but it ultimately got too long. back to business after this :)


	6. Rage - Rishi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A warrior's rage is something no one should trifle with, without a death wish that is. Tri'ama comes to the terms with the fact that you can't trust everyone.

**NAJI._RAIDER’S_COVE.**

Anger wasn’t an unusual feeling that radiated from her Sith partner. Over the last month or two, it seemed that was the only thing the now fully-clothed in all black woman ever really felt. Anger, or at times when they were alone, nothing. Nothing to grasp at, only the unexplainable void that she tried to make sense of. Then, one day after their excursion to the slaver’s island, her mind was closed off again. Since then, it was only ever red-hot anger that seemed as if it would explode at any given time, and there was a firm wall in place behind that. She wondered why, it wasn’t as if she’d ever been good at deciphering her moods, but this was odd in itself.

Naji wouldn’t call them friends (stars, she was a Sith Lord, a Darth!), but it put her at a _major_ disadvantage to even list her as an acquaintance, anything more than just the _Sith I’m Forced To Work With For The Good Of The Galaxy_.

But, she’s surprised now, and not in a good way. Lana has delivered the news - Theron is gone, and has been captured while they were away. And all she can feel from the Wrath -Tri'ama, as she’s been made privy to- is roiling regret. Distressed, as she’s unable to even make eye contact with either other blonde woman. There wasn’t any anger to be found, but she’s regretful. Maybe for not being here when Theron had been captured, maybe for another reason she didn’t understand at that very moment. Her sadness is evident for just a second, before she turns her attention back to Lana, the wall put back in place and less than boiling anger at the surface. Naji steps in, trying to throw a comforting nod at the woman before she blows her metaphorical top, “Whatever happened, we’ll learn the story from Theron himself _when_ we get him back, right Lana?”

“I’d rather we not impede upon his abduction, he’ll be able to do what he does best, but yes. I suppose we will.” the Sith says, as Jakarro and C2-D4 make their return to the safehouse. The Wrath’s left eye twitches at Lana’s unflappable feelings towards Theron’s abduction (Naji can’t blame her, she also thought the woman would be much more concerned about her partner), though she isn’t sure if it’s a trick of the eye. It’s good to see the Wookie starship captain and his droid again, as they’ve been invaluable to their mission on Rishi thus far. Even Tri'ama’s knitted eyebrows lift for just a moment, halfway in between a wave and contemplation.

“ _Where I come from, we value our allies! We do not let them become imprisoned!_ ” Jakarro roars before C2-D4 can manage a greeting to the women present, and Naji’s jaw drops unintentionally as she translates, covering her mouth in shock.

“What did he say?” Tri'ama asks a little too quickly to be purely for analytical reasons before she can even begin to process what Jakarro was alluding to. A visible grimace is painted across her face as a fire burns beneath her previously cerulean blue eyes. They’ve faded into a piercing yellow again, as they often do when she’s angry, “You know good and well I don’t speak Wookie.”

“I-” Naji is unsure of whether to tell her or not, afraid of the coming storm that will surely blow through the safehouse if she does, before sighing (might as well get it over with and let her take out on those more responsible than Lana), “Jakarro is alluding to that Theron wasn’t simply…taken without outside assistance.”

Tri'ama seems a tad confused, raising an eyebrow in mild confusion before her force signature becomes white-hot, scalding if it had been a physical representation of it. She’s realized, and she’s rather upset about it as well. A scowl replaces her previous compliance, and she balls her gloved hands into fists, “Lana…” she growls, “You had something to do with this!”

“Theron has his job, as do we.” Lana responds, almost coldly as she deflects the accusation, her golden tinted eyes hardening behind her gaze, “There’s more to be gained from his abduction than you think, Wrath.”

Tri'ama wants to say something else, something with a bite behind it, but she deflates as she looks around the room. She moves her head too quickly for Naji to figure what her eyes landed on that made her less frustrated with the situation. Tri'ama is unsure, no longer sure-footed on her next move as she seemed to always be. It’s a tad frightening if she’s being entirely honest. But the impregnable wall remains up in her mind as she runs a hand through her hair, “Then what in the _stars_ do you suggest we do next?”

“Our next move is to interrupt the Revanites to the best of our abilities, if not stop them outright. There’s a Rishii village on the outskirts of the Cove. I suppose that would be our next stop.” Lana says, not an ounce of emotion filtering into her voice. Jakarro says something else, and though Tri'ama looks about five seconds away from crushing the droid with the Force, she listens intently. Through the exchange of plans, Naji is suddenly very aware that she’s working with two Sith lords, one with a roaring flame and the other with an iceberg. Tri'ama is for someone reason very worked up over this (she’d make it a point to ask about this infatuation with Theron that had been rather evident at another time when it wouldn’t get her stabbed), and Lana is not (she’d rather not ask anything from her, as polite as she seemed, now that she knew what she was capable of…), “Jakarro and I will join you there.”

“Thank you.” Naji is unable to steel her own voice to bid her goodbye, but Tri'ama grumbles a few curses as she disappears out of the safehouse. The Barsen'thor wants to say something else, maybe even a scalding remark if she’s feeling particularily cold about this, but can’t find anything to say to Lana. Her mind goes absolutely blank as she regards her. The woman had allegedly allowed her partner, her _friend_ (if she were being generous) to be captured by the enemy. As cliche as it was, with friends like her, who needed enemies?

Was this how all Sith were?

Maybe she should learn this Sith mind trick of closing off her mind to her allies. It seemed to be rather effective for these two, and when on Nar Shaddaa, do as the Nar Shaddaains do.

If she’d ever been to Nar Shaddaa for something other than hunting down Children of the Emperor. Spoilers, she hadn’t.

-

**TRI'AMA._RISHII_VILLAGE.**

It would be an understatement to say she was angry. Hell, it would be even worse to say she was simply _pissed_ with the current state of affairs.

The whirling of the blades around her as she cut down Revanite after Revanite didn’t sate her bloodthirst, and even shoving one through a communications unit couldn’t kill this burning frustration building inside of her. Later, her Jedi companion would make note that her eyes had gone a shade of red that she and her new Twi'lek companion had never seen before. She would also go on to say she wasn’t just radiating anger in her force signature (she had left the floodgates in her mind wide open), the pure _distress_ that the Barsen'thor had picked up on was terrifying to admit to.

Tri'ama had been thinking so much of just being so appalled by Lana’s gall to just let Theron go that she hadn’t even called Pierce back to continue on to the Rishii village (though he chose not to rejoin her on the trip through the base after she’d realized and called him, and for someone reason she had reacted by just hanging up the holo). Not feeling his presence behind her at all times was a new feeling, not to mention the Barsen'thor’s sniper was a little too crafty at times. They tripped over one another, and though his emotions were also well repressed, his fear was small, but still there when a blaster shot grazed her cheek. An accident, maybe, but Tri'ama wasn’t taking any chances with him. Republic soldiers rarely could be trusted to work with Sith and not throw a fit. He was much more precise with his shots after her force powers lost control for just a moment (she didn’t remember it through her seeing-red-haze, but she’d cracked the base of the tree he’d been perched in when another shot got a tad too close to taking her out along with the enemy she was fighting), though they didn’t exchange a word until they arrived at the village. Very curt, Zenith had been introduced into her codex of the Barsen'thor’s companions.

It seemed that working alongside her own people would have to have reservations now as well.

She couldn’t even muster up the energy to report properly to Lana after they’d arrived in the small hut that was now their base of operations. It’d been decided that since they were from opposing factions, they’d work on opposite sides of the Revanite factions as well. She’d be heading in alone on the Imperial side of the Revanite camp, while the Barsen'thor and Zenith would continue onto the Republic side. Tri'ama and Lana had agreed it would be best to cause as much chaos as humanely possible instead of waiting for the two factions to tear each other apart on their own. Neither of their Republic allies seemed particularily ready to agree wholeheartedly, but as soon as she had allegedly threatened to do it on both sides herself, the Barsen'thor quickly made her choice.

Stars it was odd to have had such an out of body experience. Having done things that other people clearly remembered, but something she had no recollection of ever doing herself. To say the least, when she did eventually reach the Imperial bunker, the body count had grown astronomical. There was no one to report to the leader (later she discovered it was a Sith Lord she had convinced) and he fell to her plans rather quickly.

But, when she moved onto the Republic bunker to cause a bit more chaos, it was evident her rage was beginning to wane. The Captain was on edge, and even more when a few warning shots made their way to nearly taking her out if she hadn’t been focusing properly. Those few were deflected readily and back into the chests of some surrounding soldiers. If it hadn’t been evident to the Captain before, she meant business. She had demanded where Revan was, and had apparently force choked the man while he was being particularily stupid by not outright answering her.

“The…valley…stronghold,” He gasps for air as she tightens her grasp on his windpipe, finally complying with her request for information, “It’s-It’s where….they took Theron..Shan.”

_Theron._

He falls to the ground in a heap, wheezing as he gasps for air as her anger finally disappates into fueled determination, “And what did they do with him?”

“I-I don’t know.” He breathes, picking himself up a healthy ways away from her and her still-lit lightsaber, “That’s all I know, I swear. I know the Imperial forces are headed this way to try and kill us though, a Jedi just came through to warn us.”

His hand gets a little too close to his discarded blaster. Though, before he can even draw his blaster, she throws her blade in a wide arc, and he barely lifts the weapon high enough to fire when the red blade slices him in half on the return trip to her hand. He dies, collapses for real this time as his blood pools beneath him on the floor. It’s satisfying if she’s being truly honest, and she can see a singular living survivor hiding just behind the holoprojector. Bloodlust sated for the moment, she sheathes her weapon, “I don’t intend to kill you. If there are more of you hiding within the bunker, I’m not here for you.”

One pair of Mirialan lavender eyes pop out from behind the projector. Mistake number one, and from their demeanor as they stand and shakily reholster their holdout blaster, they hold eye contact with her before running further into the bunker. Mistake number two.

But she really isn’t here for them. Nothing could be further from her true objective here in the heart of Republic operations. If the Barsen'thor had done her job properly, then the Revanite camps would be destroyed in the next few days once all the inevitable mistrust rose to the surface. Stepping closer to the projector herself, she tries to make sense of the map. Tri'ama can see where the camp is, and makes a mental note of every other base present in the dim blue light. The stronghold that the Captain had told her about was a few klicks the opposite direction, and her heart skips a beat. Once, for just thinking about what wrath she could unleash on the Republic and Imperial soldiers alike for taking her teammate, but again because it’s Theron. She was going to get him back.

This is for the good of the Empire, the Republic and the galaxy. Her first thought is that Theron is an ex-SIS agent first and foremost. He sympathizes with his home faction first. He’ll be grateful for his rescue, especially from those who surely destroy every living being within that base, but most likely would work with Naji first to warn the Republic. She and Lana would be responsible for the Imperial side of rallying forces.

At the end of the day, they were still technically enemies, just working towards a similar goal. The Revanites never changed that. She flew the red and black, he flew blue and white. She was the Empire’s Wrath, he was the Grandmaster’s son. The Sith and the SIS Agent.

They were about as opposite as you could get.

What _did_ that botched outing mean to him anyways? Her thoughts are racing as she downloads the map onto her holocom, the jacket, the almost shooting a man for touching her like that?

Does his heart skip a beat everytime her name is mentioned? Does he try to act more confident when she’s around?

The friendly banter he and Naji had when they were working alongside each other, the disposition was always kind, if not also rather protective. Of course, she was one of the most powerful Jedi alive, no wonder they would be close.

The download had been complete for sometime, and something cracks in the holoprojector just as she has that thought, sparks flying as she covers her face with her arms for protection. It takes a bit for it to calm down enough for her stand as if she hadn’t nearly fallen to a piece of machinery, and she frowns. Was Naji interested in Theron? Jedi didn’t marry, much less have romantical ties (as far as she was concerned), but being so far away from the Jedi for so long, something must’ve given.

Her holocom rings, and she begrudgingly picks up. The Barsen'thor’s lithe frame appears, "Did you finish with the Republic? The Imperials are rather upset with my presence-“ A blaster shot in the background, "Zenith and I are headed back to the Rishii village, and the Imperials are beginning to rally in the valley. I suggest getting out of there before you get caught in the crossfire.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Tri'ama barks back, and the Barsen'thor raises an eyebrow. In all seriousness, she didn’t deserve to be yelled at. Nothing was official between Tri'ama and Theron anyways, and Naji seemed like the kind of person to stay quiet for just about everything anyways. They wouldn’t stay up late at night and scour through reports and stay together until they couldn’t keep their eyes open…

Gah! With that criteria, she wouldn’t even be able to trust Lana!

Well, it wasn’t as if she could right now anyways.

“Well…”, Naji clears her voice as she looks back towards the holocom in mock indifference (she had zoned out), “I’m heading back. It’s inevitable, but try not to kill too many of my people. It seems yours are ready for a war, try not to add to the casualties.” her voice softens as she pleads with the Sith.

“No promises.” Tri'ama answers. The other woman offers her a weak farewell, and just like that, she’s left in the darkness of the sparking holoprojector.

What _does_ she want?

_Does she even know anymore?_

Revving the engine of her speeder bike and riding back through the jungle, she can’t even focus on the way back until she’s lost, wholely and truly lost. She’s frustrated, with Naji for being the perfect Jedi, the perfect woman. With Lana, for seeming so kind but then doing a 180 and letting Theron be captured. With Theron, for being such an alluring prize that she can’t even have.

With herself, for letting herself fall so hard, and so fast.

 _“I wish to forever be your loyal servant.”_ That voice pops into her heads, unnecessary and unwanted, _“If you will have me.”_

Snapping her head up from her hands, she makes the realization that this isn’t about her holodrama worthy love. It’s not about Naji, it’s not about Lana and it’s sure as hell not about Theron. It’s not even about her. There’s an insane cult that she’s in the midst of that left unchecked, would lay waste to the Republic and Imperial factions. And she can’t be defeated just because of one person. She won’t be.

Pulling out her holocom, she inputs the directions back to the village and is back on her way, hair flying behind her and eyes narrowed against the wind. Usually she doesn’t drive this fast…

Quinn always had something to say about her driving. But she never let him take the reins, not really. It was always her bike, not his. She would drive as fast as she liked.

That should’ve been how her emotions were as well. But it wasn’t, and she paid dearly for it. First it was Ka'el, then Quinn, then Pierce. Now Theron. And she’d killed more people than she could count for every man on that list. Today alone was worthy evidence.

But if she was going down, the Revanites had better believe that she would go down swinging.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ka’el basically replaced Quorian Dorjis in this universe, which will be covered in a later oneshot of shadow of the sith!


	7. Collateral Damage - Rishi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naji and Tri'ama wade into the Nexu's den on their hunt for Theron. Tri'ama mulls over her current state of affairs with Theron as Revan continues to make himself known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This bad boy is a whole 6.2k words, compared to my 2.5k word average, this is one hell of a chapter. Most of it is in-game dialogue dumps (I had to use a YouTube video for the Sith quizzy so some things may be inaccurate), but I did enjoy writing it. Don't ever expect something like this again.

**NAJI._REVANITE_STRONGHOLD.**

“I don’t trust her.” Zenith pulls her aside before they continue on to the stronghold, and she makes a motion for the Wrath to continue on towards where the speeders were parked. Out of earshot, she turns back to the sniper, who seems rightfully upset, “You saw the gleeful rage she went on as much as I did. Who says once she gets that agent back, she won’t kill us too?”

“She’s not in her right mind either, Zenith.” Naji is as surprised as she figures her ally is as she defends the woman, “I can’t say why, but I can sense something else is at work rather than just plain Sith cruelty.”

An unbelieving grunt from him nearly makes her roll her eyes, but she figures she has to let it slide. By calling in Nadia earlier, Zenith had only been acutely aware of the situation before he’d arrived on-planet, and had been more than suspicious of the alliance with Lana and Tri'ama. Given that excused nothing, even she’s a little upset by the body count in the Republic Revanite camps, but she also can’t change the conditioning the Wrath has endured for years on end. She’s learned one thing, and that’s fighting for her faction no matter what, and no amount of begging from Naji will change that. And though it’s just a hunch, something about Theron’s kidnapping has thrown her for a loop. She’s more irritable than usual, and though she was able to discover her eyes weren’t yellow all year round (they were a beautiful grey in the early sunlight of the Cove), they have been red for the last few days. Conversation has been completely forgone, and not surprisingly, Lana has been on the receiving end as well.

Or maybe she’s wrong and Zenith is right, and the Wrath has something horrible planned for both of them as soon as they leave civilization, “I pledged my loyalty to you, but I won’t let your trust get you killed.”

“I…thank you.” She says, once she realizes he isn’t really insulting her. Maybe she really is spending too much time with them, assuming Zenith would have any malicious intent against her. He’s only looking out for her, and in more ways than one, he’s right anyways. Maybe she is being too trusting with Sith, the people who sacked her homeworld and left scars that would never heal on her people. She nods towards the awaiting speeders, where the Wrath sits impatiently. Her distress is still evident, but her determination is stronger. It’s nearly suffocating as they grow close, and she barely lifts her head to the two, simply uncrossing her arms and standing up, “Is everything ready?”

“As ready as it can be.” The Wrath answers coldly. Without even asking back if she was ready to leave, she races off into the jungle, leaving a cloud of smoke behind her. She and Zenith share a look before she swings a leg onto her own speeder, Zenith behind her. Then, the greenery of the jungle is upon her as she tries to follow after the Sith. Something she’d also learned, Tri'ama was fast. Not just on foot (she’d overtaken her multiple times while they were running about in Raider’s Cove. It made sense, with her lithe frame and long legs would make her a champion long-distance runner, but it was terrifying if she was honest. Seeing her bolt after criminals sent a shiver down her spine because that could just as easily be _her_ ), but upon as close of inspection as she was going to get, the Sith apparently wasn’t low on credits either with the souped up speeder she drove. Most likely, she’d get there first and start on her path to the stronghold before she and Zenith could even get set up. Rolling her eyes, she figures she’ll find her as soon as the pained screaming started.

Also, she seemed to absolutely love throwing her sniper for a loop. Maybe the soldier that ran around with her previously was better at predicting where she would be a few seconds later, but because even Naji herself was a longer ranged fighter, Zenith wasn’t used to having to watch the battlefield for allies as often. Her jumping out of nowhere to strike down enemies didn’t help their new alliance at all, and there were a few injuries that she was just a little too sure had been caused by him, unintentionally she hopes. Both of them had their own reasons to be frustrated with the other, but she also hadn’t exactly been communicating properly either.

It didn’t help they both knew next to nothing about the Wrath other than her faction-crossing achievements, as she figured was the same for her. Instead of staying behind after debriefs, Naji often returned to the Polaris. After all of the mess with hunting elusive Revanites, she needed the break provided by Lana. To say the least, she needed the warmer force signatures of her crew rather than the soul-shivering ones of Rishi, stars forbid she become jaded. She, personally, could name every one of her crew’s favorite foods, along with the things that made their faces light up like nothing else could. Not that she was bragging, it was rather unbecoming of her, but she liked to be prideful of her knowledge of those she lived with. It brightened her day in a way that was hard to describe, and she was emotionally refreshed when she returned.

The Wrath, was a trickier person to decipher. If it was possible to simply gift her an able and willing Theron Shan, she would’ve, if only to gain her unwilling alliance. Naji didn’t like to be unable to trust her allies properly, and Tri'ama was no different. She wondered what the woman hid beneath her respirator (since Manaan, she hadn’t seen her without it), wondered why her companions weren’t a constant. Naji had been met with not only a Talz (on Manaan), but also an Imperial soldier (most recently) and small blue Twi'lek (for only a few moments when she’d gone to find the Sith for a mission). It seemed she wasn’t satisfied with any of them, and through her rampage, had gone without one. Naji, sadly, wouldn’t have been surprised if she had come back with much more debilitating injuries than just a simple scar down the length of her arm.

She was afraid for those in the Republic camp that had seen the Wrath of the Empire.

“Hold on!” She shouts over the engine of the speeder, and instinctively Zenith’s arms wrap around her waist just as she has to make a hard left to avoid a grazing animal. Blonde hair flying, she skids to a stop just as the animal huffs at her as if _she’s_ the problem. Which, she figures she is, invading the poor animal’s grazing grounds. Naji is thoroughly annoyed, she grumbles about the animal actually using it’s large ears for something, and continues on her way. Possibly she had been so deep in thought that she hadn’t seen it until the last minute, but makes a mental note to tie her hair up once they arrive near the docks.

It doesn’t take long either, before she stops the speeder just a few moments away from the opening of the stronghold base. Ships are visible, and more than a few Revanites are milling about, weapons drawn. Storing her speeder underneath one of the docks while force cloaking both her and her sniper, she makes to begin scouting for the Wrath and her trail of bodies, but she’s surprised to see it’s not immediatly evident. Nothing screamed she had been here, no pools of blood, no wounded Revanites. Passing by a terminal, she has to do a double take as she senses a familiar force signature before looking up in shock. The Wrath has scaled a taller signal tower just near it, sitting on her haunches and gazing across the docks. Looking around for any Revanites, Naji drops the cloak once she finds they’re alone, and Tri'ama finally acknowledges her, “Why in the stars are you up there?” Naji whisper yells, “You didn’t go ahead?”

“I believe it was you who requested I stop continuing on my own, Barsen'thor.” Tri'ama answers, giving her a rather unimpressed look as she raises an eyebrow, “I am also alone at the moment, what would Lana say if the Wrath came back dead because she was impatient?”

 _That didn’t stop you earlier_ , Naji thinks bitterly, _You’re also saying you didn’t want to go on alone because you were afraid of dying without me to come save you_.

But there is a touch of something other than stifling pseudo-bravery filtering through her mind, which is possible apprehension lurking beneath the service. Possibly her previous injuries had a lasting effect on her and decided to wait for her this time. Naji couldn’t imagine storming a camp on your own was easy, no matter how strong you were. She and Zenith had struggled to hold their own, even with the two of them. Hopefully this would instill some caution into her before she decided to rampage again.

Could Sith even _feel_ fear? Was it even a basic emotion they had? Naji figured not, with how much force-leaping they did off cliffs and insane acrobatics they did during battle. It was as if not a single thing scared them, not even death. The Empire must’ve paid for their surely extensive insurance bills, or possibly they even waived them.

“Well then,” With a loud thump, Tri'ama leaps down from the signal tower (the force is used to soften the impact, but when she steps away the wood is cracked) and stands to her full height and brandishes both of her sabers, “Lead the way, fearless _Jedi._ ”

What kind of talking to had she received from Lana? Had she? Or was she truly just toying with her, as she seemed to enjoy quite a bit? A confused look crosses her face as the Wrath chuckles, “What? You have the map don’t you?”

Naji does. She’d acquired it just before they left the hut, and maybe this is the Wrath’s way of reminding her that she isn’t the best leader. With a barely audible huff, she pulls out her own double saber (though not igniting it just yet), and pulls up the map on her wrist. Her attention drawn away for just a moment, she turns to see where Zenith had gone when she hears the all-too familiar sound of sabers striking through skin and the thump of a body.

Her heart stops for about .2 seconds.

-

**TRI'AMA._REVANITE_STRONGHOLD.**

Red cuts through a Revanite who had gotten just a bit too close for her liking, taking aim for the Jedi. The Barsen'thor had turned to find her sniper, who for the record was behind a stack of crates and had surely seen their surprise attacker before she had, and as ingrained as it was in her society, she cut them down before they could get any closer to the Consular. Naji whips around, fear in her eyes before it mellows out into relief. The twi'lek gets up from his spot, though doesn’t reholster his rifle as he approaches the two.

The two were an odd pair. How had such a soft-minded Jedi gotten caught up with a crackshot sniper? Much less someone as rough and patriotic as him. She didn’t know much about this Zenith, and didn’t intend to get to know him, but right off the bat she’d chosen she didn’t like him. Maybe it was because he’d nearly shot her a few times, or seemed less than grateful for what she did for the alliance.

What did she think she’d gotten up to? Tri'ama throws her a less than well-meaning _what the hell_ look before stalking off. She wasn’t completely lying when she’d decided to wait for the Barsen'thor and her ally, there were quite a few more traitors patrolling around the stronghold than in the camps. Had Broonmark been here, or Vette, or Pierce, she would’ve easily been able to hack and saw her way to the main building, but without any backup she already had a streak in her hair from a blaster bolt that had just barely missed her. Now she had a matching pair on both sides of her head.

But, the Empire’s Wrath wasn’t about to even slightly admit defeat. At least she did wait as long as Lana had advised her while healing her wounds.

_“You ought to be more careful, Wrath.” Lana says, her voice softer than it has been in days. Tri'ama really can’t act all that cold anymore, especially when she’s trying to hold onto her pride and not request the Barsen'thor’s healing for every little wound she suffers. But, the skimpy armor has worn out it’s purpose and has made it obvious of every injury that marrs her pale skin. Lana took notice and decided to heal them, “You are not invincible.”_

_“I’m also not dead.” She grumbles, before inhaling sharply as Lana begins to work on one of her most recent wounds. Tri'ama never learned force healing (she didn’t ever have to, Vette was proficient enough to get them through Korriban and Balmorra…and then he routinely took care of her), but it’s an odd feeling to describe. As if the wound is being torn in two, and then put back together rather forcefully. Painful, but it doesn’t scar as roughly as they would without Force intervention. And, she’s put in working order much faster than without, even with the searing pains up her arm “I’ll be fine, Lana.”_

_There’s a disbelieving noise from her as the aching pain subsides in her forearm, “You may be now, but you must learn to work with the Barsen'thor, as much as you audibly despise it. Your arm may not be the only thing injured the next time you become angry enough to forgo your own safety.” There’s concern in her amber colored eyes as Tri'ama stands from the bench, though she grimaces for a completely different reason than being in pain, “You can have your reservations about this later.”_

_“Killing the crazy galaxy-spanning cult comes first, yes I’m very aware, Beniko. Though if I feel threatened, I_ will _act accordingly.” Tri'ama answers, reclipping her armor on and her sabers at their respective places on her hips._

_“Just wait next time, at least until the Barsen'thor can accompany you. It would do us a great disservice to lose you.”_

But they move much too slowly. Being careful, she assumes, but for every Revanite she kills, it takes another five minutes for Naji to move on. Bah, it’s not like she has a force bond to any of them, or knew anyone personally. They were nameless, faceless, traitors to either faction. To put it simply, they deserved to be cut down as it was. Tri'ama just didn’t want to let the armies do it first.

Every ship is hers though, every warship meant for the opposing faction. Destroying is nearly as therapeutic as striking down everyone she comes across, and the Barsen'thor doesn’t interfere. Except for the occasional time a force push off the docks and into the water is needed to keep the Revanites off her, the woman is exceptionally quiet as she goes over strategy to get into the actual stronghold. The explosions that could surely take the paint off her speeder is another perk, making her feel just as powerful as she was when she was in the heart of the Empire. Using the force to pull apart wire after wire, and then nearly the whole ship while she’s at it, a roar rumbles up and out of her throat as sparks fly and the sound of creaking durasteel fills her ears. A look of shock from her as the ship snaps in multiple directions and is lit ablaze from dripping oil puts a less than good-natured smirk on her face as they continue on her reign of terror.

Naji looks terrified. She feels terrified. But, there is not a signal speck of judgement in he force signature. It’s unsettling.

This isn’t the only reason she’s being more reckless than usual. The more time spent out here sabotaging every technological apparation out here was less time that Theron had to live. At the hands of a cult, a cult leader to be more specific, of course Tri'ama was more concerned than truly necessary. Lana had made it evident that he was mentally strong and could withstand some amount of torture, but she’s afraid they’ve wasted enough time already. It’s been four very long days, and in those days she progressively has gotten less and less sleep. Tri'ama nearly chuckles at the idea she feels like she’s lost more sleep over an SIS agent than the betrayal of someone who actually reciprocated her love for a period of time.

Before she chokes on that chuckle and realizes just how far from the truth that is. It’s been four days, not four years. Theron hasn’t tried to kill her either.

It’s also not the time or place to be thinking about the past though, as she waits impatiently for the Barsen'thor to connect to a nearby terminal, Lana’s face flashing on. They talk for a bit as she plays with a discarded piece of sharp durasteel, twisting and turning it in the Force. Just for a moment, she tries to reach out for Theron, somewhere among all of the other presences nearby. For obvious reasons, the Barsen'thor shines like a beacon in the throng she can sense, but his familiar signature isn’t to be found. Dejectedly, she figures he’s shut himself off the best he can to withstand the interrogation.

Her will hardens, she’s going to outright gut whoever did take him. Maybe not Lana, but his kidnappers would have a hefty price to pay. And stars, if they left any marks, any scars, and cuts, they would fall dead at her feet before the day was over.

The durasteel creaks and then shatters into pieces in the air, and she lets them drop unceremoniously at her feet. Her frustration is only growing, and that means there’s a lot of unsuspecting building materials that would feel her fury today. Just as she’s seething through all of this, a bit too bright of a force signature invades her space. The Barsen'thor has finished her conversation with Lana, “We have the coordinates for Theron. All is ready if you are.” She starts.

“Where is he?” Tri'ama asks, trying to steady her already cold voice to not give away more of her emotional state as she already has.

“It’s just down the valley. I don’t know what to expect, but he’s in that building there.” Naji points out across the water to a larger building with some other Revanites crowded around the opening. Tri'ama turns back to her, awaiting her coming orders or whatnot, but the Barsen'thor hasn’t made any movement to lead, “Well? Isn’t this what you want?”

“What?” She narrows her eyes, confused by what she’s attempting to say.

“You have a platoon of surely Republic soldiers in between you and your goal. You might as well get a head start.” It isn’t friendly, her offer isn’t (in fact it’s a little sad as she says ‘Republic’), but the meaning behind it is borderline respectful, “I’m sure you’ll get through them much faster than I will.”

Tri'ama pauses, considering. She doesn’t smile, though her bloodlust only grows as her eyes land on what she’s speaking of. They aren’t all Republic, a few Imperial uniforms stand out to her, but she’s quick to sprint down to the docks. Nothing will keep her from her objective now, a battle cry elicited from her as she slices through every enemy along the way. A few are sniped by Zenith, but she’s not particuarily upset about it. Nothing matters now but to get to Theron.

-

Stepping over the body of Sith that protected the doorway, Tri'ama is breathing hard. Of course she would be, she’s sure either of the two traitorous factions have lost a good chunk of their military forces today, but her body is wound up like a toy ready to break from the tension. She’s sure she’s bleeding somewhere, and the adrenaline coursing through her veins ignores it wholeheartedly. No extremities are missing just yet, her hood lowered (fallen during the consecutive battles she’d engaged in) and her hair is sweaty and plastered to her forehead. Her knuckles have gone nearly white around her sabers as she disignites them, the door opening after she’s slashed the console, and it sparks accordingly as the three step through.

The inside of the bunker isn’t well-lit, but it’s empty. She goes through first, Zenith flanking them before she comes upon a holoprojector. She has to hold back baring her teeth at the damned thing as the figure comes into better view, “Revan.” She growls.

“I should have known the Empire would send one of it’s lapdogs to try and find me. You should never have bothered.” The gruff voice says, as if he’s already won.

“What have you done with Theron?” She demands, before the projection can say anything else. She’s not sure she wants to hear what it has to say.

“Theron Shan’s fate doesn’t matter. Neither does yours, I’m changing the fate of the galaxy itself.”

When (yes, _when_ ) she gets her hands on this mass murderer, it will be safe to say that he will end up six feet under before he _changed the fate of the galaxy_. He’s taken something important to her, and she will do the exact same to him.

“By doing what, destroying everything you come across?” The Barsen'thor speaks up before she can, coming to stand next to her, “That’s not changing the fate of the galaxy, that’s causing chaos and killing millions.”

“I’m not waging some war with the Empire and Republic. I’m saving countless lives, and you keep getting in the way.” He sounds more like a child hellbent on getting what he wants than a tyrannical murderer, she’ll give him that, “The only upside in your being here, really, is that you get to bear witness. My plan’s too far along to stop it now.”

Blaster fire is audible as she turns to an open doorway just as he finishes his sentence, and she and the Barsen'thor both ignite their weapons. Tri'ama steps forward, brandishing both scarlet sabers in preparation for whatever comes next. It isn’t immediatly obvious, but she feels him through the force before she can see him. The door is closing just as Theron runs under it, and her eyes widen in surprise. With no immediate threat obvious, she lets out a sigh of relief she didn’t know she was holding as her cheeks flush.

This isn’t the time, she has to remind herself. Though his name ghosts over her lips, and she’s sure she looks more surprised than she wishes to let on.

“Don’t listen to him–It’s not over yet!” He comes to a halt, Naji growing closer with the full intent of healing his more apparent injuries, one hand already glowing in preparation.

“I was so sure I’d never see you again.” Tri'ama admits, clipping her sabers back onto their holsters on her belt. Hopefully it isn’t as flirtatous as another tone would’ve suggested it as, but her relief is out in the open, however he takes it. The interrogation had thankfully, not killed him or crippled him that she could see, but the injuries will scar. Not that he won’t look more rugged with it, but it hardens her resolve for the cause.

“Yeah, sorry–almost made it out the front door when I saw you’d shown up to rescue me. Should’ve known you would.” If she hadn’t been so hot from before, her already vermillion face would’ve given away her acception of the compliment. Even if it wasn’t directly meant for her, as she acknowledges Naji out of the corner of her eye, “It’ll barely be a fight. Revanites embedded on both sides are gonna sabotage shields, weapons–you name it–and we can’t warn them.”

“I thought all of them had come to Rishi. There are still Revanites among the Republic?” And Empire, Tri'ama silently adds as Naji questions him, “We need to warn Master Shan.”

“Revan had the Nova Blades build him a signal jammer. No communications at all up in Rishi space. It’ll be a blood bath.” He answers, his head lowered as Naji inhales sharply. Even Tri'ama knows what this means for the war effort. There will be casualties upon casualties in the oncoming fight, and currently they’re the only ones with any knowledge about it.

A scowl replaces her earlier near smile, “Revan, when I see you again. You will not be pulling off any miraculous survival. I’ll put a hole through you first.”

“Actually, I doubt I’ll ever see you again.” Ominous, but it doesn’t ring true until the entire cavern begins to rumble, an explosion sounding nearby and things falling around her in a deafening succession.

“This place is coming down. Soon!” Theron yells, and droids are beginning to pour out of some unseen crevice of the place. Naji’s idea to heal is quickly shot down as her green blade is ignited, and Zenith’s sniper rifle has a familiar click to it when it’s unholstered. She gives the SIS agent a lingering look, before also drawing her weapons.

“You could have joined me, Theron. Understandably, you’re as tenacious as I ever was. Good bye.” He says, the holoprojector shutting off. A siren begins to blare and red lights are blinding her as it reflects off every metal surface she can see. The droids begin shooting a bit too well for her liking, and before she leaps, Naji throws a chunk of wood paneling at the direction of the metal good-for-nothings. She’s a tad bit in awe before leaping herself and finishing the bots off, stabbing a few through the chest.

Tri'ama continues hacking her way through every droid she can see, and even a few humanoids that stuck around for some reason. As much as she’d like to drop back with the others, finding the shut off for whatever alarm is coming first apparently. She couldn’t hear much from his and Naji’s conversation over the damned sound, but as long as she’s leading the charge, she will enjoy it.

In a flurry, they’ve arrived at a terminal, and as she sheathes her sabers, Naji attempts her best at shutting off the surely doomsday events that are heading their way. Her fingers are flying over the holokeyboard, symbol after symbol popping up before it explodes. She isn’t quick enough to put up a force barrier between them all, but she puts her own hands up to protect her face, and she stumbles backwards into Tri'ama, the ground shaking beneath their feet. Things are coming apart, and she’s beginning to consider slashing her way through whatever door or barrier is keeping the from leaving on their own. Reaching through the force, she can feel whispers of Theron’s signature, and it feels as if Naji is going to need much more than her basic healing to repair the damage done to him.

And like that, the alarms have shut off, the ground under them stilling. The red hasn’t painted everything in an eery color anymore, and Lana’s voice crackles onto the comm, “Hello? Are you there?”

“Lana? What’s just happened?” Tri'ama asks, whipping her own head around in mild curiousity, or more droids in case one wishes to bear her wrath.

“I appear to have sliced through four layers of encryption to remotely deactivate the power core.” She answers, pride filtering into her voice, and if Tri'ama’s being honest, she’s willing to give her props for that. She herself floundered with technology, Vette and Quinn had always been better with the finnicky datapads and terminals than she had been.

“Just in the nick of time. Don’t know if I could’ve managed that, even.” Theron admits, sounding tired and a trifle incredulous of the Sith’s work.

“Theron. Good to know you’re alive.” Lana says, her voice just a touch softer than usual, “I heard everything–about the jammer, all of it. We need to regroup for an immediate attack.” She pauses as Tri'ama looks at the tired expressions of the other three with her, and can imagine how Lana feels on the other end of the comm. This is all out war now, and they’re at the forefront of it. A few years ago, she would’ve seen it fitting. She was the Wrath after all. But this was unprecedented. She would do anything to save the galaxy and her people, “Whatever happens…be proud of what we’ve accomplished up to now. See you soon.”

-

The ride back to the Rishii village is oddly quiet. Theron is understandbly a bit out of it (he rides on her speeder, but that isn’t on her mind right then), and she’s not up for conversation at the moment as thoughts of wartime begin to enter her headspace again. It wasn’t as if she thought the war was going to be over as soon as she pulled out of Corellian space, but she wasn’t expecting this either. Soon, she and Naji would surely be stalking into enemy territory, staring down the full fighting force of a millenia-old cult (or so she assumes, wrongly she later learns). Two people who would never work together otherwise.

Tri'ama wonders if she’ll ever see the woman after this all over. Not that she needs to, but it’s a lingering thought as they pull back into the village. Jakarro is the first to greet them as they return, “It is good to have you back!” (translated properly by Naji) He roars at Theron, who’s understandbly a bit stand-offish.

“Alright, take it easy. I’m not exactly a hundred percent, and you’re not exactly gentle.” He says, a chuckle underlining his statement. Naji allows Zenith to wait outside, and it’s stifling warmer inside than it is outside. Tri'ama unclips her own respirator, finally free to breathe the jungle’s sticky air. The Barsen'thor’s grey eyes are analytical, not judgemental but curious. There is a scar along her throat she’s not particularily proud of, but she puts it on a nearby desk for later.

“Oh good! The team’s back together–all thanks to you both for saving Theron, of course.” C2-D4 acknowledges the pair of force sensitives, Tri'ama’s gaze flickering to the aforementioned agent for just a moment.

“He was nearly out the door himself, you know.” She fills in, and Naji nods approvingly. Lana pulls herself away from a holoterminal, coming to stand near them and surely debrief them on the next mission.

“Theron, you have the intelligence on this signal jammer. You start.” She says, a tad clippedly.

“Right. The intelligence I gathered in the company of several interrogation probes while being held against my will.” Either Lana isn’t bothered by this and acts accordingly, or is formulating her own response to his icy statement. Either way, Theron continues, “Jammer’s on a nearby island. You’ve probably seen it. Can’t be sliced remotely, lots of Revanite zealots protecting it…the usual hopeless nightmare, basically.”

“We’ve got this.” Naji says confidently, even if she doesn’t believe it herself. There’s a new injury she hadn’t seen previously, with the woman’s hood up most of the time through the Revanite bunker. Tri'ama briefly wonders where it had come from, who’d gotten past their defenses long enough to land a blow like that. It’s an ugly cut too, though it’s stopped bleeding and trails up her neck to her ear, “Revan won’t know what hit him.”

“Time’s running short. You both know what to do. It’s what you always do: triumph.” Lana declares. And with that, she goes back to whatever she had been doing previously. The Barsen'thor makes to gather something from her packs in the corner, shuffling things around and eventually calls Zenith inside.

Tri'ama takes this opportunity, “Theron, may I speak to you for a moment? Alone?”

He raises an eyebrow, as if suspicious of her intentions but follows after her. It’s cooler outside, as the sun is beginning to set over the valley. She can see Rishii bustling around nearby, though they aren’t her immediate concern. Tri'ama is well-aware of Theron’s current state, but walks further out from the hut to where there’s a stream running just beneath them. She stops, not turning to him but can feel him lean back on a wooden railing, “So? What’d you need?” He asks, “We _do_ have things to be doing.”

His hazel eyes are tired, though alert. One of his cybernetics is no longer yellow, instead a dull replacement of it. She hopes he fixes it.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve thrown myself headfirst into a dire situation. Stars, it isn’t even the first time I’ve faced certain death.” She swallows hard, repressing the urge to brush her hair back from where it is hanging in front of her face. She feels bare without her respirator, but continues on, “But this is new. S-Theron. I’m not sure if I’m coming back this time.”

He’s quiet, letting her continue. But there are obviously gears beyond his cybernetics working in his head. Contemplating what she’s saying, processing and surely about to react accordingly, and she wants to know. Know everything, “I’m trying to say that if this is the last time I see you, I want to thank you for the truly exciting excursion.”

“You’re not going to die, you know that, right?” He questions, though more subdued than he had been as he approaches her from the barrier that he’d been leaning against, “You’re… _you_. There are things you’ve done that would make anyone retire early if they survived, but you’re still here. And doing a hell of a job while you’re at it.”

Tri'ama can’t find a response to that. It’s kinder than she expected. Down from the adrenaline high, she is in quite a bit of pain. There’s a tear in her armored pants, one that’s bled for a while and finally has stopped, and a few along her backside. Lana will need to heal those to keep them from scarring improperly. It feels as if she’s considering death itself, and death has chosen for her. She feels more trapped than she has in years, like this really is the end. Her heart won’t stop beating so fast. The blaster bolt that had shot her in the shoulder, the scar on her back when she’d worn a more exposed armor set.

Quinn. Tri'ama honestly though she was going to die that day. After their skirmish, she was ready to nearly admit defeat herself, staring into his cold blue eyes that they shared.

Her body hurts.

Her mind hurts.

Her _heart_ hurts. She’d spent the last few days worried about him, and now, here he is. And she doesn’t know what to say. Or what to do. What was one to do in this situation.

“I…I just wanted to say that. Covering all my bases just in case.” She turns to finally face him, “I never got to properly thank you for what you did for me at the cantina. Here I am, thanking you.”

“You’re–you’re welcome.” He says hurriedly, a look of surprise crossing his face. Maybe he didn’t think she’d even remember the disaster of a night, “I have you to thank for saving me.”

“You were already out before Naji and I were there.” She says, quietly reminding him that the Barsen'thor had assisted as well, “You didn’t need me.”

They’re quiet, as the wind begins to dry her hair off of the sweat that had plagued her. Tri'ama understands why the Barsen'thor had tied her hair back earlier, the jungle was no place for longer hair styles.

She doesn’t even finish that last thought before she gathers what exhausted confidence she has left, and goes to kiss his cheek, cupping it with her uninjured hand. He’s startled, which makes sense, and she goes to head back towards the hut, completely aware of what she’s just done. He could refuse to work with her now, but at least she’s gotten it out of her system.

A hand pulls at her as she stops, Theron on the other end. He’s flushed, and now not just from the heat. He’s tentative, still he pulls her back closer to him and kisses her softly. Her heart is pounding in her ears as she allows herself to sink into the moment, and had he been Sith, been Jedi, he would feel every single emotion she’s allowing herself to experience at this very moment. It’s surreal, in fact. Tri'ama doesn’t want to let go.

All too soon, it’s over. They remain in each other’s embrace for a moment before he slowly let’s her go, though he still has a loose grasp on her hand. He’s not looking directly at her, but his attention is still with her, “Just…don’t die.”

“I can guess we have much to discuss when I return, yes?” She asks, flushed herself. Tri'ama is intoxicated, stars she wants to taste him again. Allow her to tangle her fingers in his jacket, in his hair, wherever she can.

She wants him.

“Yeah.” He answers, the briefest of smiles on his face, “That’d be nice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did introduce the Outlander/Theron Shan romance a little earlier than in-game (it's right after this flashpoint you get a proper kiss from him) but Tri is feeling her morality a little more than usual here, so I pushed it forward a bit. I think it fits nicely, but ya'll be the judge :)


	8. Alliances - Rishi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naji and Tri'ama don't acknowledge that they have limits and consequences ensue. Alliances are made. Tri'ama gets her just desserts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another super long chapter, 8K this time. I have no idea how long this absolutely insane writing spree is going to last, but for my sake I hope it's a long while.

**NAJI._BATTLE_OF_RISHI.**

Something snaps in her as a blast throws the Wrath backwards. Naji turns just in time to witness the missile hit somewhere near her feet. Distracted, maybe. By what, she isn't sure, but Tri'ama falls in a heap a few yards away, painfully hitting her head on a terminal as she skids to a stop. Over the firing of the walker, she can't hear whether she screams or not. But she's down for the count, and a cry catches in Naji's throat. The walker is still pelting her with blaster fire, now that it no longer is targeting the woman, but that pause to catch the Wrath out of the corner of her eye is enough to drop her force shield for just a moment, worry overtaking her.

Pain explodes in her right leg, as she grits her teeth, a blaster bolt leaving a nasty gouge in her upper thigh. The walker doesn't stop firing, but refocused by the agonizing burning, she puts up her shield again. It was a horrid idea to leave Zenith behind, worse she should've called Qyzen in if she was looking for brute force. Backup would've been very nice at this point in time, lazily she thinks they'd be out of here much faster with four extra hands. But, something about being as quiet as possible without a full strike time had won the majority over (Tri'ama, Lana and Theron had all outvoted her on this idea, she didn't see it as fair as the only truly devoted Republic member). So here they were, fighting a giant metal beast without blasters that simply wouldn't go down no matter what they did.

_"I don't like this anymore than you do, love." She says, sitting out atop the hut in the Rishii village. It was still warm out, though the cool air off the nearby oceans was soothing, and the impending impromptu mission kept her from being able to sleep. She'd stepped over the others to come outside and calm herself, but she'd had to call her husband because, to put it simply, she just couldn't stop her racing heart. Felix's image flickers for a moment, before stabalizing again, "But I'll see you again soon, you know that."_

_"I'm going to worry either way, Naj." He answers, trying to hide his visible frustration. He's only worried for her, which makes sense. His wife of more than three years is yet again, running headlong into a battle she might not walk away from unscathed. She, personally, hates it when he frets about her. Some may find it endearing, but there's nothing romantic about giving your partner a heart attack in her eyes, "How long are you going to be there? Who are you taking with you?"_

_"I don't know. As long as the assault takes, I suppose." She pauses, brushing a stray hair behind her ear, "And the Wrath."_

_"The Wrath? Not Zenith? Or, I don't know, me?" He asks quizzically, crossing his arms, "Naji, you're going in there with a war criminal. Or more than a war criminal, a tyrannical Sith. I might not be force sensitive, but even I know there's something wrong with that sentence."_

_"I don't have any other allies that are as in depth with this operation as I am, Felix. Bringing in someone like the Hero of Tython would only cause a stir, which would speed up our destruction at the hands of Revan instead of slowing it. We can't afford that, especially with the state the fleets are in. Theron and Lana have already advised against it." Felix opens his mouth to ask who the aforementioned people were, but she's already beginning to answer, "You met them both on Manaan a few years ago. The Sith and the SIS agent."_

_The gears are already turning in his head as he processes what she's said, "Right. But that doesn't change the fact you're going in alone. I'm prepped and ready to go at your word, Naj."_

_"I'm_ not _putting you in more danger than necessary, and that's final, Felix." She responds, trying to sate him as much as herself,_ _"Among enemies or friends, this is how it's going to be. I need to do this for the good of the Republic. The Wrath is coming with me, whether you or I like it or not."_

_He sighs, knowing he's been defeated in this argument with her, "Just come home. When you're done. Everyone's getting antsy with you out there and no reports on what's happening."_

_"Isn't_ _that just you?" She asks playfully (as playfully as she can, coming down from an anxiety attack). She's sure Tharan and Holiday are getting along fine without her, and that Nadia and Bisauur will progress well with Zenith and Qyzen looking over their more practical trainings (though she is always afraid her younger padawan is going to shoot herself in the foot, with being unable to see as it is) He rolls his eyes, though gives her a knowing smile, "I promise I'll be back as soon as this is all over, and you can join me wherever we go next."_

_"Promise?" He questions, a near needy tone filtering into his voice. She and Felix didn't have a bond like she and Nadia did, but it's nearly the same. Naji can always bank on Felix being there for her, and as much as she's worrying, she's sure he's doing enough of it on his own. For a few months at least, she'd be by his side no matter what. After all of this fumbling in the darkness against Revan, he deserved that much._

_"Always." She can hear someone rustling beneath her, or possibly it's just the wind toying with the trees nearby. Either way, it is time to get some shut-eye before tomorrow's surely exhausting events, "I love you, Felix Iresso."_

_"I love you more, Naji Iresso."_

Naji doesn't know if she'd be able to forgive herself if Felix died. If he was hurt when she was nearby. He's been fatally wounded once, and she promised she'd take every blaster bolt for him afterwards. Even if it hurt him more to see her incapacitated. He meant the entire galaxy to her, and surely it was mutual. That, to put it in basic, was why she couldn't bring him along. Anyone, for that matter. Her family getting hurt because of her would turn her to the dark side faster than her passions for her relationship with Felix would.

With this thought fueling her next attack, she throws a chunk of wooden plank from nearby and sends it into the viewport of the walker, then she ducks to move to protect the warrior. Just barely fast enough, she pulls out her saber, igniting it again. Her right leg has been momentarily forgotten as the pilot regains their composure and begins firing on her again. Barely able to split her attention between their certain death and her fallen ally, Naji turns over her shoulder to see Tri'ama groaning, trying to push herself up onto her elbows. The woman is wide open through the force, and all she can feel is waves and waves of determination, if not also pain on the forefront of it. It's not immediatly obvious what injuries she's sustained, but she's bleeding down her forehead as she lifts it to look at her. However, whoever the pilot is must be horrified at the sight, because the crimson liquid running down her face paints a picture of what she assumes must be a true Sith. Her blonde hair has fallen out of it's ponytail at the nape of her neck, and is sticking to the rivers of blood on her face as she holds out a hand.

 _"Hold on."_ Naji can just barely read the warrior's lips, partially in general confusion because she can't hear over the clanking of the giant machine, before a force blast nearly sends her backwards as much as the walker loses it's footing as well, crashing it to the ground with an ugly screeching sound. Had she not steeled herself with the will of the force against the Wrath's attack, she surely would've sustained fatal injuries herself. The ripple has gone through the water beneath them as well, and sends her a strong message as well. The Wrath is not playing around anymore (as if she was before), and the fallen walker is failing to stand. Just for good measure, she crushes the legs beneath it and through some struggle, manages to pull them off completely. A bit extra, if Naji's being honest, especially because Wrath only had so much power in her after the island they'd just fought through. She's concerned she's going to exhaust it all before they deal with anymore adversaries.

Tri'ama stalks up to the metal beast, weapons still not drawn. The walker stops trying to get up, and an exit port opens, the metal already almost crushed door kicked out by a male Mirialan. His force signature is shaky, he's afraid as his eyes land on the pair, his eyes widening as he tries to disconnect himself from the surely destroyed pilot's seat and run. His force signature is full of fear, his original confidence waning away.

There isn't a word exchanged between them before Tri'ama takes it upon herself to snap his neck. It's too fast, too swift before she can even say anything to keep the Sith from the violent action, and the man's yellow eyes roll back in his head and his head lolls at an unnatural angle. His body hits the ground just as he tried to stand. The woman turns to her, her own amber eyes in narrow slits looking rather annoyed. With what, Naji can't name it, but holds her tongue in fear that in this aggressive state, she may receive the same treatment. Well, at least she can hold her own against a Sith. The poor, now lifeless Revanite hadn't been able to at all.

"If you're going to say something scathing against my strategies, do it now or forever hold your piece." Tri'ama says, not bothering to face her as she continues toward a large holocomputer. Naji pauses for a moment, a lingering glance given to the man as she leans down to close his eyes. His uniform is painted in dingy orange and white, clear he'd been part of the Republic beforehand. But, he had tried to kill her without a care in the galaxy. He didn't seem anywhere near peaceful, but she throws out a small prayer for him anyways.

Following after the Sith, it's clear the long, drawn out and consecutive battles had taken more out of her than immediatly clear. Instead of walking properly upright, she's staggeringly unbalanced, leaning against the handrails for support as she continues on. Though her own right leg hurts, she hurries after her, putting a hand on her shoulder that the Wrath shrugs off indignantly, "Wrath--Tri'ama let me heal you." she demands, digging into her shoulder with a bit more force than necessary.

"I don't need healing from a Jedi." She sputters, as she turns her head over said shoulder. The blood is beginning to dry, giving her a more caked and pale look, as if all the liquid has drained out of her face and onto it. Her eyes are growing alarmingly glassy, as if she's not even really seeing what's before her, "Let's get this job over with."

"You're not well." Naji argues, as they reach the end of the path, "You did a grand amount of damage, and took a hit near the end. _Stars_ , your head is bleeding something horrible. _Let me fix you._ " It isn't a request anymore, it's an order. She may not like the woman, but watching her bleed out and die in front of her isn't going to be in line with her moral compass. Tri'ama had helped her take down adversary after adversary here on Rishi and surely had saved her life more times than she could count. 

Now, it was time to save her's.

"I don't--" She barely has the angry statement out before she collapses, Naji just barely catching her, and she lowers her to the ground into a sitting position against a guardrail. The woman still has the energy to struggle against her, but she's breathing hard. Under closer inspection, there are quite a few other wounds that she hadn't seen before, a gash on her stomach surely from earlier, and many along her legs and forearms. Possibly there are more on her backside, but rolling her over seems like a bad idea for now, "I don't...need healing."

"You need it more than you'd like to admit, Wrath." Her hands glow brightly, and she considers for a moment. Does she have enough left in herself to be effective? The high she was on from the adrenaline is beginning to leave her, and her thigh is excruciatingly painful, so she has to adjust her position to keep the pressure off it for the time being. Naji has her own injuries to deal with, can she heal her without also being self-destructive and hurrying along the loss of consciousness? When and if she passes out, will the Wrath leave her to die, instead of returning with her?

"If you're going to...going to monologue in that head of yours, I might as well--gah!" Tri'ama is still trying to push herself up, and her arm gives out, "Might as well go."

"You're not going anywhere." _And stop poking around_ in _my head_ , she adds silently. Breathing out, she tries to calm her racing heart and focus on one injury with her waning abilities. First, her head. Tri'ama fidgets for a moment as she lowers a hand to where she can see the most visible gash (she''s horrified for a moment, when had this happened? And why is it so deep? How had she survived this long with it?) just in the part of her hair, and Tri'ama winces before her face relaxes into not one of being content, but simply _being_. Why, she wasn't sure, her healing didn't typically elicit such a nervous response. It isn't easy work, she's cut in quite a few places, but there's swelling in her brain that she zeroes in on soothing first. Naji pours as much of her power into it as she's willing to part with, and slowly but surely the Wrath is coming down from her battle high as well and beginning to enter more of a pain-afflicted fuzzy state, the walls of her mind falling. All of a sudden, the Wrath is wide open to her, and the feelings of desire, wanting, fear, and blind determination flood her consciousness, though she hadn't even prodded at her. It's smothering over her own emotions of triumph, and for a moment she has to let go to rid herself of her force signatures intoxicating effects.

After a few minutes, she's successfully got Tri'ama's brain in working order (or as working as it's going to get), the swelling done for and the cuts closed gracefully. They won't leave the scars that are often conversation starters for most people, but instead ones that will continue to fade with time. There's enough of her power to heal her left arm and the biggest gash in her stomach, but she's beginning to lose herself by that point. Things are growing fuzzy, and she can barely make out what's going on as her hand flickers in and out with it's gold glowing. The corners of her vision are going black as she gives a final push into her last heal, the now-scar closing up before her eyes.

The Wrath, however, has regained a better version of consciousness and waves her hand away, testing her left hand to push herself up from her sitting position, "That's _enough_ , Barsen'thor. I won't perish by the hands of any walker. Not now anyways." Her silver eyes are surprisingly concerned, as she holds her flickering hand away from the wound on her shoulder, "We still have to make it back to the safehouse alive, and I'd rather you not be unconscious when we arrive. How that would look to Lana and Theron."

"Just...give me a moment." Her breathing has gone ragged, as if someone's pressing down hard on her chest. Her own head hurts from exerting so much energy that day, from using it to heal the Wrath. Everything is catching up with her in that very moment, and it's as if it's wounding her more than the fight itself did. Naji struggles to get up, having to use the guardrail to keep the world from spinning more than it already has. If that was the case, then the Wrath's injuries must've been worse than originally assumed, "Just...a moment..."

Everything fades, and the Wrath's unease is obvious in both her stance and presence. Her hand is gently on her head, and she whispers something to her before she collapses outright.

_"Relax."_

-

**TRI'AMA._POST_BATTLE_OF_RISHI.**

After Naji slumps to the ground, she's careful to check the surrounding areas before letting her lay against a stack of crates. The woman was peaceful now, her breathing slowing considerably and her indescribably chaotic force presence quiet. It had been a last resort, and she hadn't intended on forcefully soothing her. It was morally wrong for a few reasons, and she wouldn't have had to push it on her as hard as she had if she hadn't been force sensitive or so hell bent on staying up and awake. Typically, she wouldn't even think to do it, but the Barsen'thor would've tired herself out much before they even got near to the speeders. This, was a mercy.

It would be harder to explain to Theron or Lana once they answered, but her immediate thought is to simply shut the signal jammer down. Copying what Theron had showed her with some challenge, there's a loud sound of the giant machine slowly but surely turning off. Not even a moment later, the aforementioned agent's voice sounds, "Nice, I'm in. Uploading the files."

Her second mission is to contact Darth Marr. This is a bit more difficult, getting past all sorts of firewalls she didn't bother learning the names or functions of. Once that's finished, all she has to do is wait until he picks up, "Come in. Can anyone read me?"

After that, Darth Marr fizzles to life in blue particles, "I am here. And you are on Rishi."

"Darth Marr, you have traitors in your fleet. Scores of them, acting under orders from Revan." She lowers her own hood, if not to seem more respectful to the older man, then to cool her off enough to focus properly. It's hot as all hell right now, and she's not trying to pass out while passing the information onto those who could do things.

"Revan is alive?" He asks, subtly incredulous. It's a stupid question, but even she's curious to how he knew more about all of this Revan business than she did. Given she wasn't the most studious acolyte, she'd have to do some serious reading after all of this.

"He wants you to destroy each other up there." She answers. Whether he believes it or not, is to be seen.

"Have the fleet power down all weapons. Do it now." Marr says to someone she can't see. There's an audible sound elicited from the holocomputer, which she takes as good sign the Imperials aren't firing anymore.

"Your people should have a list of the traitors." She responds, trying to pick out what Lana had said midst their late night conference. Another line is calling, and before she can choose to accept or decline it, Satele Shan is standing next to Marr. Tri'ama tries not to raise an eyebrow too obviously, but is surprised she even managed to get through.

"Finally, an open line." She says, relief flooding her voice. Tri'ama had yet to meet the woman in person, and for a fleeting moment is curious if she would now. This is already the first time they've spoken on neutral terms. It's odd, if she's being honest.

"Grand Master Shan. It appears we have been set upon each other by your ancestor." Marr bows respectfully to her, and she wonders if she should do the same. It's already too late though, and chooses to stand up a bit straighter instead. Tri'ama would be wrong to deny that she was one of the most powerful Jedi she knew of.

"Yes, we were notified by an agent of ours who's planetside. We're taking measures to detain the traitors among us." Satele answers calmly. At that point in time, she struggles to figure what the Grand Master is talking about. There must've been more agents on-planet than she was aware of, and she nearly stores it away to ask Theron when she realizes _it is_ Theron.

"As are we. Given the nature of the threat, I suggest we speak in person." Marr suggests.

"Very well. A neutral location." Satele agrees. Tri'ama throws a look over her shoulder to see a still resting Naji before processing the information.

"There's a pirate town on Rishi. My team will send the coordinates." She gets a simple agreement from Marr before the holocomputer shuts off, and Tri'ama is left alone. She turns back to the Barsen'thor, who as she prods at her, is still asleep. It doesn't seem as if she'll be easy to rouse, and figures it'd be best to leave her as she is. There are a lot of wounds that Tri'ama wouldn't even be able to try and heal (she'd never been taught to do so by anyone at the Academy, Tremel had been more concerned with making her powerful), and instead heads off to find the speeders they'd stashed just behind where the jammer platform lead to. It wouldn't be hard to connect the two, and to just tow the Barsen'thor's behind her to find the pilot that had taken them over. Moving her would be more difficult, as she couldn't just put her behind and hope she wouldn't go flying off. In her current state, it was as if she'd gone entirely comatose.

And just as limp, she finds as she tries to heft her up. The woman couldn't have been more her own weight, but holding her up is rather tough work, even with the help of the force. It quickly reminds her that though Naji had healed her rather well, that most of her minor cuts and bruises still remained with dull stabbing pains. Through whatever mercy there was, she's able to bring her to the awaiting speeders with a tremendous amount of trouble and revvs the engine to speed off. Tri'ama has to drive with her sitting in front of her, which clouds her vision a bit, but is entirely possible. Unlike her, the Barsen'thor knew better than to leave her hair free-flowing, which makes this a lot easier than it would've been.

It's a longer drive than she would've expected, but also shorter in a way. There aren't any Revanites to send them into disarray or any hiding in the shadows of the setting sun. The scenery was beautiful when it wasn't painted with blood. Which, was often the case when Tri'ama visited planets. That wasn't to say she caused most of those issues, but coming upon the awaiting ship, she's more than glad to be leaving. Hopefully, this is the end of Revan and his cult, wherever he's fled to, and she can return to Dromound Kaas and live out her days in relative peace. Or as much peace as the Empire's Wrath could get with the current state of the galaxy.

But, she considers. Is that what she wants? The Empire was the only home she ever knew, the only place she'd ever grown up. It wouldn't be easy to just walk away from such a place, where most of her memories were. How would it be to leave Raegia and Yusaits, those who hadn't made her childhood comfortable but had provided for her as well as they knew how. But was she willing to part with Theron? It sounded stupid in her own head, willing to throw away the seat of power she'd earned just for an ex-SIS agent, but it'd taken years to get others to regard her as anything but Amarillis-Quinn. More to get over what had occurred between the two of them. All she needed now was a good distraction, a good end of an era. Revan had, surprisingly, been both.

It wasn't as if Theron would leave the Republic for her. Tri'ama wouldn't trick herself like that. They didn't know each other that well, and she was afraid all of the desire, the need, the _wanting_ was all one-sided and that she really would go back to her Kaasian apartment alone and needing after they were done here on Rishi. And passion like that only lead to worse flares of power she wouldn't be able to control or situations that would become violent that needn't be.

They're off into the sky before she can even realize it, and she leans back in her seat after laying Naji down on her side. True to his word, Vhob had been gone until she'd called him back, and was still suspiciously looking around to see if anyone was going to try and shoot him down. It isn't until halfway through their return trip that the Barsen'thor stirs from her unshakable slumber.

-

**NAJI._POST_BATTLE_OF_RISHI.**

Blistering pain erupts in the forefront of her mind, if not also her head. She tries not to scream out, but clutches her head as if it'll stem the pain. Her vision is still fuzzy, and her mind is swimming as she tries to figure where she is. The way the floor shakes beneath her, for a moment she's afraid that the Wrath really had left her behind and reinforcements for the Revanites had arrived. Her panic is inevitable before she begins to grasp reality again, and opens her eyes against the brightness of the lights, shutting them again as they nearly blind her.

_Lights?_

Cracking one eye open and then the other, the Wrath is sitting across from her, one leg crossed over the other and her arms crossed over her chest. If she's being honest, the woman looks well, or less sickly than before. Her grey eyes meet hers as she pushes herself up to sit, (she'd been lying down before, though she winces as she looks at the tears and cuts she hadn't been able to heal before losing consciousness) and leans back in her own seat, "Where...where are we?"

"Vhob's ship." The Wrath answers matter-of-factly, as if she hadn't fallen unconscious and woken up on an unfamiliar ship, "We're headed back to the safehouse."

When had that happened? Weren't they just at the jammer station? How had they crossed the island again within such little time? She opens her mouth to ask, but the woman sitting opposite to her answers first, as if she's read her mind, "I drove us over. And no, you're not crazy. I put you to sleep."

"I-what? Why?" She asks, a tad frustrated that the Wrath hadn't asked first. The last thing she remembered was healing her, and then Tri'ama put a hand on her head and then...oh. That made some sense, at least now it did. Naji had personally only learned force soothing because it'd been necessary for most Sages to sooth their patients. She was a Shadow, but as she got further to finding the Children of the Emperor, it became essential to her work. She was curious whether the Sith taught it as a basic ability, considering their faction-typical outlook on things.

Either way, Naji didn't appreciate being rendered helpless like that, even if it had saved her from self-destruction, "Now, now. Don't be so frustrated that I kept you from passing out later. I'm sure after a debriefing you won't have to see me even on the same side of the war again." The Wrath shrugs, her eyes narrowed and piercing into her soul, as if beckoning her to answer the question in the air, _what are you going to do about it?_

She puts that argumentative thought down somewhere in the recesses of her mind and focuses on the task at hand, "Then what happened afterwards? Surely the jammer didn't elicit some sort of response from someone?"

Tri'ama begins to delve into the more important topics of what she'd learned after Naji closed her eyes (unwillingly, she begrudgingly stashes away that she shouldn't put it past Lana to allow her to be kidnapped, or put it past Tri'ama to put her to sleep), even deciding to take off her respirator so that she could make more sense of what had occurred. There wasn't much to go on, only that the traitors had been assumed to be successfully weeded out from the Republic and Imperial fleets that orbited Rishi. An alliance other than their own, especially between Darth Marr and Satele Shan seemed the most unlikely of what she'd told her, but it wasn't as if Naji had been there to disprove what she was saying. She'd have to wait until they landed to even learn of the new developments.

Though, once she's on solid land again, on one of the landing pads in Raider's Cove, she senses something odd, but so lovingly familiar nearby that she hurries to search for. Once they leave the ship, and Tri'ama pays the pilot a staggering amount of credits, they step back into the winding pathways of the pirate town. Two figures are waiting for her just outside, and though her leg nearly gives out as she picks up speed, once they see her as well the two parties are running towards each other. It happens all in a flurry, the sweet smell of Tarisian flowers on Nadia and the forests of Tython on Felix invade her senses and she's sure they've all shed some tears over their reunion, "I'm so glad to see you both!"

"We can say the same." Nadia wipes at her eyes furiously as Naji hugs her lightly, still careful of her bruises. Her white hair has grown out, even if they've only been away for a few weeks at most, "I missed you, Master. All I had to do was sit around and wait..." Her smile is infectious, her rosy cheeks giving away her childish nature, "And study, of course keep up my studies while you were away." She adds quickly, grinning.

"I'm sure you did. And even if you hadn't, I would still treasure you, my padawan." Naji answers, giggling herself as she brushes a strand of hair behind the girl's ear and out of her face. She turns to Felix, who's patiently waiting his turn for her affections as well. Though she kisses Nadia softly atop her forehead, she isn't as careful with Felix and kisses him hard. He can't begin to understand it, but passion floods through her force signature. He pulls away seeming satisfied as her smile only grows, "I missed you as well, Felix."

"I wouldn't doubt it for a minute." He answers, before handing her a bouquet of flowers. They're beautifully arranged, and even her botanical mind can't identify them all at once. It's a heavenly smell, and she kisses him again just for good measure. His eyes are bright and full of life, but they harden as he looks at something over her shoulder, "Looks like _she_ needs you."

She pulls away from her husband, and sure enough the Wrath is putting away her holocom and stalking towards them with her respirator in hand. Any softness from their discussion aboard the ship had vanished, and she looked more frustrated than anything else. Naji nods sadly to both of them, but puts a flower in her mussed hair as she hands the bouquet back to Felix, "The galaxy will never stop asking for me. I believe I have a meeting with some very important people, love."

"I guess you do." He says, disappointment evident in his force signature, "We'll be waiting for you here when you're done."

"I love you, never forget that." Naji says, and he gives her a sad smile before repeating the sentiment. The Barsen'thor steps away from her companions to meet in the middle of the street with the Wrath, "Are we heading back now?"

"It seems like Theron and Lana have met with Darth Marr and Grandmaster Shan. Our presence has been requested." Tri'ama says clippedly. Their pace is set briskly, and Naji attempts to retie her hair into a more presentable bun, though surely they'd both understand they'd just come off the battlefield. She wonders for a moment what is of her speeder, though quickly remembers they've been stashed on the landing pad. If they're only going for a meeting, Naji would retrieve it later. There are other questions she wishes to ask the Wrath, but figures they're good for another time.

The security detail isn't as heavy as she would've thought it would be, which made sense. If anyone were fixing to attack the Grandmaster and currently one of the most influential Sith known the the wider galaxy, both of them would kill them before a stormtrooper even got a shot off. The conversation isn't immediatly lifted when the two arrive, but Theron throws them a slightly less frigid look that she takes as goodwill.

"...Then we are agreed. A truce for the time being." Satele is just finishing her own statement as they take notice of the two.

"It would appear we've reached an accord, and without a council majority." Tri'ama says, making herself known to those in the room. Naji isn't immediatly aware of what that means exactly before Marr speaks up.

"We both know time is too short for consultations and politics." He answers, his masked face not giving away any of his emotions. As assumed, she can't sense anything from him, unlike Tri'ama who even though she had shut herself off from her, Naji can still sense her apprehension.

"Satele Shan. Grand Master of the Jedi Order. Your intervention allowed us to defend ourselves against the Revanite fleet. Many thousands owe their lives to your actions." Satele says, more relaxed than any of her current companions. Naji had always admired the woman for her ability to always have an idea of tranquility.

"And the all-encompassing rot of the Order of Revan has been excised from our fleets. Now we turn to the matter of Revan himself." Marr says, turning to the real concern of everyone present.

"My agent here has discovered that Revan's on the fourth moon of Yavin, where he believes the last spark of the Sith Emperor resides." Satele noted, acknowledging Theron. Tri'ama isn't audible with her concern, but her concern and burst of fear is felt through Naji's senses.

"Revan intends to return the Emperor from the brink of death so he may finally be destroyed." Marr concludes.

"I, personally, have no issue if the Emperor accidentally perishes. He holds no power over us anymore anyways." Tri'ama says. The woman is right, the Hero of Tython had destroyed him a few years ago, but apparently hadn't finished the job. Knight Atiya would be disappointed, and possibly fueled by his rage for the man. A terrifying thought, which made it good he wasn't along for the mission. His love for his previous padawan would send him on a warpath for the Emperor, and Satele already didn't like him for it

"Agreed, but there's more to it than that." The Sith Lord continues, "The Emperor hungers. If restored, he would attempt to consume all life in the galaxy, and I am certain he would succeed. No one--not Revan, not the Jedi, not you, not me--would be able to stop him." Marr and Satele come to stand in front of the blonde pair.

"Darth Marr and I will be leading a joint strike force on Yavin Four to put an end to Revan's plan. I hope you'll join us." Satele announces. Naji hadn't ever been to the planet, and was admittedly curious about it. Why would the Emperor go there, if not to another planet to cause mass chaos and sate his hunger?

"As do I. For the Empire. And for the galaxy." Marr says. With that, the two of them make to leave. Once they have, Naji and Tri'ama come to stand with Lana, Jakarro and Theron at the table, the two visibly less concerned now that the two powerful force sensitives were gone.

"That went surprisingly well, I think." C2-D4 acknowledged the two's arrival. He's right, for having two warring factions agree to work together to destroy an age old evil, the meeting had gone well. No shooting, no lightsabers had been involved. How long that would last, Naji didn't know.

"Yeah, it's nice to see the Empire and Republic can work together without stabbing each other in the back." Theron says, rather accusingly if she things about it, a pointed glare at the blonde Sith across the table. So it was time for that discussion they'd successfully avoided the last couple of days.

"It was the right move, arranging for your capture. We've succeeded, haven't we?" Lana says pointedly, and Tri'ama's rage is simmering at the edges of her signature. Having three pointed personalities in the same room probably wasn't the best idea, and given Tri'ama's aggressive nature, Theron's affinity for arguing and Lana's sometimes pretentious personality (or at least in her mind, it was pretentious), this was about to be a _discussion_ she didn't exactly want to be part of.

-

**TRI'AMA._RISHI_SAFEHOUSE.**

Lana was not about to get away with this scot-free. Tri'ama had been relatively fine up until she said anything, and figured strangulation wasn't exactly outside of her repetoire. Not that she'd consider straight murder of the Sith for this, but they were on the same side of the war and even she was a little suspicious of her. Scratch that, very suspicious.

"Unbelievable. Where's the trust? Huh? Did it go wander off someplace, or was it never there to start with?" Theron asks, visibly frustrated if not also angry. Tri'ama crosses her own arms, pondering on what she should say.

"Lana is right. We wouldn't have even known about the jammer if...well if you hadn't gotten access to their files that way." Naji falters to continue her argument, but Lana looks downright thankful for her input.

"Thank you, Barsen'thor." She says, as if that fixes the problem entirely. Tri'ama is honestly surprised with the Jedi, she'd been so anti-violence since they'd met and now she pulls the, 'Well we have what we needed and no one's dead anyways so it doesn't matter' card? And to think she was going to thank her for her help after they left the safehouse.

"With all that's going on around us, we have to able to trust each other. You owe Theron an apology." Tri'ama says forcefully to Lana, narrowing her gaze. Naji makes to say something else, something that would surely try to sooth all of them but one pointed look from her shuts her up rather quickly.

"At the risk of seeming egotistical, I will not apologize for being right." Her hands have balled into fists against her will, and she tightens her crossed arms to keep from accidentally doing something she'd later regret. Lana has the gall to not even admit it, which only makes her angrier.

"And at the risk of seeming possessive over the safety of those involved in this operation, I say you will." She's quick to add that, to keep from accidentally outing herself to the other two force sensitives to her infatuation with Theron. "Do it."

Lana sighs, but gives in on the battle of wills, "Theron...I recognize I betrayed your trust, and for that I am sorry."

"I say enough of this! We need to focus on the Revanites!" Jakarro breaks the staring contest by standing from his own chair (how the Wookie had fit, she isn't sure) and Naji breathes for what seems like the first time in ages. Her nerves are becoming Tri'ama's, and it's rather uncomfortable for her to be so open all the time. Lana seems unaffected, but she was always so quiet about her own emotions she couldn't be sure if the other Sith even cared.

"Isn't there...anything else you wanted first, T-Wrath?" Theron's trip over his words isn't immediatly obvious, but she realizes that he'd almost called her by her given name instead of her title, as he often did. 

The small grin on her face is unable to be hidden, and she nods, "Lana, Naji. I think it's time Theron and I get to know each other better."

The Barsen'thor raises an eyebrow, "I'd like to talk to you first, Wrath , if that's alright with you, Theron?" He shrugs, and the Jedi beckons her outside of the safehouse. Lana and Jakarro leave soon after, and she turns to the woman.

"What is it you needed?" She asks, a little annoyed because she's been pulled away from Theron. It'd been a while since they'd been alone properly.

"I just wanted to say goodbye is all. I'm sure I'll see a lot of you in the coming weeks or months, however long this _coalition_ lasts." She breaks her nervous persona, and lightly grins, "I know this was a trying time for you, Wrath. But I thank you for not making any attempts on my life while on-planet."

Tri'ama is taken aback for a moment, but recomposes herself, "I can't say it was out of the good of my heart, but you made it rather easy to work with you here, Barsen'thor." She fishes for the right words for a moment, without seeming too friendly with the woman. Tri'ama didn't want her thinking they were friends or anything other than simply fragile allies, "I thank you for healing me at the jammer station. You sacrificed your power for me, and that is commendable."

"You're very welcome, Wrath." She nods. Someone yells her name down the alley, and as Tri'ama turns she finds it to be her companions, the soldier and the little force sensitive girl. A pang hits her for her own crew, who hadn't touched down with the Fury just yet. Her grin becomes a beaming smile from ear to ear, and with a small wave, she heads off to them, limping on her right foot. Tri'ama is curious about the nature of their relationship, possibly they were a polyamorous couple. It wouldn't be hard to see why, they were all nice to look at and very friendly towards one another.

But here she was making assumptions.

Heading back inside, she finds Theron leaning against the table instead of sitting now, and she comes to stand in front of him, "I'm sure you enjoy the new Republic ties. Especially with who I assume is your mother."

"I love it. She calls me 'her agent', like it's sheer coincedence we have the same name." He says sarcastically, basically confirming her original assumption. So she was currently crushing on the Grand Master's biological son. Wonderful, "Though it's not like Master Satele raised me, or like we do any mother-son stuff. Just an odd way to refer to your kid, you know?"

Tri'ama has lingering thoughts to her own adoptive parents, but at risk of making Theron feel worse about the situation, she keeps her thoughts about Raegia to herself, "I can't say that I do. But when we get to Yavin Four, you should say something to her. If it's that much of a concern, anyways."

He makes a non-commital noise that makes her heart skip a beat, "Eh, maybe. I'm not really bothered by it as much amused." He stands up straight to look at her directly, "If Master Zho ever told me I'd be putting my life story out there for a Sith Lord, I'd have called him crazy. I'm the enemy--at least, I will be again if we live through it all. Gotta say, though, I've enjoyed this while it lasted."

 _He's referring to me_ , is her first thought while processing what he's said, _He's referring to **us.**_

A million and one thoughts run through her head, before she throws all previous caution to the wind, and kisses him. He isn't shy though, and kisses her back with just as much force. Even if he will be the enemy in a few weeks, a few months, maybe even next year, this is what she's living for. This is what fueled her passion at the stronghold, this is what fueled her to fight the walker. Her passion had all been for him, and it feels so deliciously perfect to be personified into one man, one person. His arms to go wrap around her waist and pull her closer to him, and being pressed up against him only strengthens it again. She's so hot, but she doesn't care either. 

They're connected until her lungs cry out for air, and only then does she pull away, leaning her forehead against his. Her eyes are nearly going cross-eyed, how close he is, "It isn't over yet."

He chuckles, his cheeks flushed a gorgeous shade of red, "And they said if I ever kissed an Imp I'd spontaneously implode..." He whispers, and it sends a shiver down her spine. Her whole body is buzzing, as if she's high on his love for her, on her love for him. It's one-sided, but she can sense just how he feels about her. His passion, his desire is all evident to her and stars does she wish he'd just take her here and now.

"Maybe by the time we reach Yavin Four..." She answers, finally looking at his hazel eyes directly. She doesn't want to pull away from him, but it's a good reminder to their current mission and she disintegales herself from his embrace, though holds his hand in hers. Tri'ama can't spend every waking moment with him, he has a job and responsibility to the Republic, and the rest of the galaxy. As much as she hates that.

"Not the most subtle hint, but yeah--we need to get going." Theron says, his own disappointment washing over her, "I'll have Jakarro plot a route to Yavin Four. Who knows--maybe if we ask nice, Revan will stop." He goes to let go of her hand, but she doesn't want to let him go. He raises an eyebrow, "You have a better idea, don't you?"

"We can spare some time, especially if you travel with me." She offers offhandedly. The clock is ticking on how long it takes to track down Revan and the Emperor, and she'd rather he be by her side as long as he can be without being suspicious to his mother, or Lana, or Naji, or Marr. He's fully surprised by her offer, and smirks.

"Me? Travelling on a Sith Lord's ship. How that would look to everyone else..." He thinks to himself, considering, "What do you plan to tell Satele?"

"I can slow Jakarro down to make it look like you did travel with him." She counters, crossing her arms in a very Theron-fashion. He shakes his head, but his eyes are twinkling with mischief.

"Let me get my things from Jakarro's, and then we can leave." He answers. She beams, but tries not to make it too evident that her successful badgering made her happy. He pauses halfway out the door to take her hand and pull her back in against him, and he kisses her again and again and again. As if they hadn't seen each other in ages, like she'd just come back from war. And in a way, she supposes she has, "You're beautiful, you know that?"

"I'm aware, but hearing you say it is a well-earned bonus." Tri'ama says. He gently brushes a blonde hair behind her ear, caressing her face in the process. He's smooth, and that's a bonus in itself, "I'll give you the coordinates to the ship, and you can drop by when you're ready."

"Sounds good." He considers her for a moment, still holding her hand as they leave the safehouse, "Tri'ama."

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I love Theron, honestly I do. Yes I know it probably doesn't make much sense for him to travel with Tri'ama, but it's all set up for a chapter I wanted to write for just their bonding time. It always did seem a little rushed through Shadow of Revan, and after looking through my albums and albums worth of screenshots from my first playthrough with her (I had to piece together some conversations), Theron really only thought this was going to be a one or two time thing. In a way, Tri does too, but she may be getting a little too attached to this SIS agent for her own good.


	9. The One Where The Past Catches Up - Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theron becomes privy to something he shouldn't have. Tri'ama faces her past and regrets it. Yavin's mission looms. No one arrives happy.

**TRI'AMA._THE_FURY.**

"You sure he's coming?" Vette asks incredulously, arms crossed as Tri'ama zips a different armor set on. More relaxed and less plating than what she'd worn on her trip through Rishi, and though her Twi'lek companion didn't have natural eyebrows, she raises them anyways at the change of clothes, "I mean you did invite a secret agent from the other faction to your ship, with more than a few personal secrets aboard. Might want to rethink that part."

"He'll come." Tri'ama answers, reassuredly squeezing her shoulder as Vette sighs. It's not even particularily late, they're still parked just outside of Raider's Cove, as they'd finally touched down after Marr and Satele left. But, they were supposed to be off to Vaiken ages ago for a restock, and even she's getting a little nervous Theron may have cancelled on her, "And don't be so quick to distrust him."

Vette grumbles something about Balmorra that stings, and she disappears back into the Fury.

They also didn't have much time to spare either. The Barsen'thor had taken off nearly three hours prior with her two companions (lovers?) in tow. The flight to Yavin's fourth moon was no simple trip and probably would take her own crew a few days to get there. Jakarro would meet them on Nar Shaddaa, and Theron would join him for that half of the trip until they arrived. It had taken a bit of convincing, but it would be two and a half days with the SIS agent and her crew before they arrived on the Smuggler's Moon.

Her hair was still damp from the rushed shower she'd taken, plastered on her forehead wasn't exactly how she wanted to be presented, but towel drying it always seemed to make it worse. Vette was lucky, she had no hair to primp or have ruined by finnicky freshers. But it wasn't as if it really mattered, did it? Theron had already seen her at her worst, bloodied and bruised to get him from Revan's clutches, a few curls wouldn't change his image of her.

She hoped.

Why in the blazes did he make her so damn nervous? She hadn't even cared about...Quinn seeing her in a state of undress _days_ after they'd met, but Theron even seeing a hair out of place puts a fear in her she can't quench. Is she afraid of what the next two days will bring, yes. There's a bunk cleaned out for Theron (Pierce wouldn't tell her which one, she has a fear that he'd given him Quinn's), and the other two are playing it by ear. They've made arrangements for Jaesa to also be picked up on Nar Shaddaa (she'd been out for days prior, and they figured giving her more time would gain her approval) when they drop Theron off, and there's nothing that can go wrong.

Tri'ama hopes. She happens to do a lot of that these days.

Vette hasn't even formally met Theron, in fact. She's acting on just little tidbits of information from her. The Twi'lek has been rather protective over her lately, and has made a few scathing remarks about the SIS agent in her free time, mostly circling around the botched date in the cantina few weeks ago that she tries to forget. Tri'ama can't blame her, her friend is only worried about her getting hurt again. In her own way, making fun of the man every time his name crosses her lips. It's rather frustrating if she's being honest, but changing her opinion won't be easy. Pierce hadn't been so hard to convince of it being a good decision, and had even rewarded her with a friendly, if not also hesitant, kiss on the temple for her so-called 'moving on'. He was shocked she didn't hit him for it, but it felt like the end of an era for the two that she reciprocated with a hug. Pierce had never belonged to her (and at risk of seeming rude, she never should've wanted him to either), but she hoped whoever came next took good care of him. He deserved that much after staying with her through it all.

Tri'ama spends a bit more time waiting, pacing back and forth in front of the Fury, before resigning to sit on the extended entrance platform and wait a little less than patiently as she waits for her vision to stop swimming in front of her (the Barsen'thor's healing had been welcome, but some injuries hadn't been healed and stupidly she'd pushed off Pierce's healing in favor of getting a shower and dressed. She regrets it already as her body aches everywhere). She considers calling him, asking him where he is and when they can take off, but she's already forced herself on him more than once in the last week. Doing it again wouldn't be in her favor, and she already feels like she's on shaky ground with him anyways. She chuckles to herself, she's _Sith_ , at one point she was having everyone else bow to _her_. Screw their schedules, she needed to waited on hand and foot because stars forbid she do anything for herself.

It's commonplace in the Empire among her 'kind', but looking back on it, it just seems so out of place. Not that she was going to go full Jedi and start trying to meditate (she'd tried, never again) on her previous actions, but she's afraid Theron is trying to bring her over to the light. Unintentionally, or otherwise. She was actually going to wait for him instead of brushing off his late arrival and leaving on her own. Even if it's hot and the only presentable clothes she didn't wear into battle were black and she's overheating.

She stands a little too quickly, head spinning when she sees the all too familiar red jacket flash by her vision that she trips just a bit, nearly having to push herself up with the Force when Theron dashes over and catches her mid-fall. He readjusts his own bag, a smug smirk on his face, "Does this count as a rescue?" he asks, hazel eyes twinkling in the midday sun. Infuriatingly.

"Maybe." She rights herself, trying not to roll her eyes as she dusts her clothes off (that hurts still, a headache pounding at her temples). Her ankle stings for that very moment, but it can be ignored in light of the fact that the man who'd taken over her dreams for days was finally here. He hadn't changed from what he was wearing earlier, obviously, and runs a hand through his hair. For a moment, she's nervous about whether she's gotten too dressed up in the black armor with a billowing half skirt and red leggings, hastily pulled on. Tri'ama was a lot of things, but desperate wasn't one of them. He's looking at her, up and down before pulling her into a quick but rather rough kiss, as if it's been days instead of a few hours since they saw each other last. He makes to pull away before she takes a fistful of his shirt and pulls him back. He softens the kiss this time, and she's nearly begging for time to stop so that she can just have this. Not Revan, not the Emperor's hand. Just her and Theron, together. Stars, what she would've given to be raised Jedi, or even just in the Republic to see him more often. Power be damned, who needed a Dark council seat when you had him?

Stars, she _has_ changed.

He makes to wrap an arm around her waist, and it's beginning to creep further down bellow her belt before they both hear someone clearing their throat very loudly at the top of the steps of the Fury. They pull away from each other so quickly she almost gets whiplash trying to turn around to find who had so rudely interrupted her fantasy. Her face flushes once she realizes it's only Vette, her own eyes averted from the two for the time being, "Pierce has the ship fired up. Ready to leave, or do you need more time with Spy Boy?"

"I'm coming, Vette." She tries not to be frustrated with the Twi'lek's intrusion, she _had_ only come to let her know. Besides, she figures this will be the one and only time anyone catches them outside of closed doors anyways. Might as well be Vette instead of someone like Satele mid Yavin excursion.

"That's what she said." Vette whispers just loud for Tri'ama to hear, which only manages to make her want to playfully (or not so playfully) slap the girl more, "Hurry it up, we don't have all day!"

"So that's Vette." Theron snaps her out of her thoughts, once Vette has gone back inside the Fury, "Somehow, just like how I imagined her."

"You'll come to love her antics, just not at this very moment." Tri'ama answers, hands on her hips as she tries not to meet his gaze, but she smiles anyways, "What took you so long coming over here anyways?"

"Couple of wild jungle beasts is all. Slowed me down, but I'm good to go if you are." He answers. He doesn't look too shaken up, or roughed up for that matter other than his matted hair, and she leads him up the stairs, punching in the code as the door slides open. He's more curious about the ship at first, eyes turned upwards before following her inside the dim lit ship. He doesn't see Broonmark behind him in the hall at first, before he nearly jumps as he makes sense of the four eyes that are all pinned on him. Theron turns to her in question, fear in his force signature and in his dilated pupils, "Friend of yours?"

"Of course. Broonmark, I told you to make yourself appear more friendly." She says sternly to the Talz. Given, he had no reason to listen to her, but it had been a friendly request rather than a demand, "And to not scare Theron when he arrived."

 _"We tried to. Little spy man not ready."_ Broonmark roars (is there a touch of sarcasm in there? Tri'ama's curious, he'd never used it before), and she shakes her head in good-natured disapproval. Hopefully, Broonmark would keep more to himself, no need to have Theron absolutely terrified while he stayed on the Fury. The Talz wouldn't have much reason to stalk him either as he was an ally for the time being, but she'd have a talk with him later.

Vette has returned, Pierce in tow. The latter had changed out of his armor into a black tunic and trousers, and she figures it's the least threatening the man is ever going to be out of his plated armor, "If we're doing introductions, I might as well start. Name's Vette." The Twi'lek starts, crossing her arms. Her blue eyes are judgemental as she takes the agent in, but she's curious. A good sign she hadn't put him off completely just yet, even with the less than respectful introduction, "Pilot and associate to the Emperor's Wrath."

"Lieutenant Pierce. Imperial Black Ops." Pierce answers clippedly, in a similar stance to his smaller crew member. He'd been so open to meeting Theron before, but his force signature cries out in apprehension. She wonders why initially, before realizing Vette must've told him about she'd caught them outside. Not to mention, as close as she is with Pierce and interacting with him as often as she does, his personality changes drastically around strangers.

"And this Talz is Broonmark." Tri'ama says, motioning to the Talz as he comes to stand with the others, towering over even Pierce, "You'll meet my apprentice when we land on Nar Shaddaa, Jaesa Willsaam. You may like her, you may not."

"Noted." Theron says. He's uncomfortable, as he's trying to hide through his closed off mind. But his anxious stance is clear, "Theron Shan. Ex-SIS." he hesitates before adding, "For the moment."

Vette grins in a way Tri'ama doesn't like, "Oh please. No need for any other introductions, we already know all about you, Shan." A similar smirk crosses over Pierce's face, Theron tightening his grip on his bag. Her face flushes, and now she has no excuse for why other than her embarassment. Vette was overexaggerating, as she often did, but she had confided in the two about the aforementioned agent more than once. Theron's eyes flicker to hers, and she puts her hands on her hips.

"Don't torture the poor man, he only just got here." Tri'ama says as sternly as possible as Vette pouts playfully, sticking her tongue out, " _Vette..._ "

"Yeah, yeah. I'll play nice with Theron. Can we get going now?" She asks, motioning towards the cockpit. Vette is partially only excited because she'd allowed her to pilot the Fury to Nar Shaddaa. It hadn't been the first time she'd ever piloted, but it had been the first time since she'd piloted in the captain's chair. Being held up by Theron probably didn't put him very high on her list of likeable people at that very moment.

"Of course. I'll get Theron settled in. Has Toovee made lunch yet?" Tri'ama questions as Vette hurries off without answering her question. The droid is nowhere to be seen, and Broonmark wanders off into the bowels of the ship with less than even a nod.

"Droid's been tinkerin' in the kitchen all afternoon, m'lord. Figure because you told it we'd have guests it's makin' somethin' nice." He smiles bitterly, "Not that it's a bad thing, of course."

"I figure not. Poor Toovee is going to short circuit himself trying to make a meal. I haven't updated his drivers in a while either." Tri'ama says sheepishly, hoping her ship droid wouldn't implode while Theron was onboard, "Either way Ash, you're dismissed. I'll see you at dinner?"

He nods in a sort of halfbow before following Vette into the cockpit. Now left alone, she beckons Theron to follow her into the opposite side of the Fury, where the crew quarters lie empty. Thankfully, the two that shared the room for the time being had cleaned as requested. Pierce's armor was nowhere to be found (surely in the cargo bay), and Vette had left her blasters on her bunk. Jaesa's was free of wrinkles, though she'd left the holdout blaster Pierce had purchased for her (even though the three of them had requested the fallen Jedi take it). The only one free and not stripped of it's sheets was, and she inwardly groans, Quinn's empty bunk. Tri'ama wishes that she had gone all that time never knowing and just inviting the Captain into her quarters at night instead of finding him at every location she could. She raises her eyes to the agent instead, trying to slow her breath and quiet the memories of dark nights prior to now, "This one--" She says, trying to keep her eyes from it, "Is yours. Do let me know if Pierce and Vette bother you too much at night, you can-" She cuts herself off, letting him step past her into the room and look around while he waits for her to continue. When she doesn't, he throws a curious look over his shoulder.

"I can...?" Theron trails off, mocking her as he sits down on the bunk with his bag. Tri'ama had just barely caught herself from offering her own bed to him as she used to do with Quinn, and a shiver runs up her spine as she wonders what the fast fingers on a datapad can do to her bare skin. She shakes the thought from her mind, but stores it away for later use (later use, the _hell_ was she on right now?), "Well, Pierce and Vette seem nice, you talk about me with them?"

There's sarcasm hiding beneath the remark as the door closes behind her, as she comes to stand in front of him with her arms crossed, "They're typically kinder." she pauses, "And no, not as they allude to."

"Is there a reason they weren't to me?" He asks, surprising her as he pulls her in closer to him fast enough that she has to regain her footing, hands resting on his shoulders for balance. There's a certain sparkle of lust in his eyes as he quizzes her, arms around her waist. She indulges him after a teasing moment, leaning down to kiss him before pulling herself away because she knows where this is going to lead if she stays much longer, a disgruntled noise made by Theron in disapproval.

"As much as I'd love to spend the entire day with you, Theron, I have a droid to fix and a ship to run." There's a hidden ' _I also don't want to make out with you on my ex-husband's bunk_ ' beneath that. Just being in here still makes her uncomfortable and indulging Theron further in here especially is a challenge in itself. As much as she hates it, she does need to begin distancing herself from him at some point. Maybe it won't hurt so much when they inevitably have to split after their mission to Yavin is over.

A ringing holocom stops her before she leaves and before he can say anything to contradict her. Meeting Theron's hazel eyes while he lays back on the bunk, she makes to answer it as _he_ fills the little blue holo before she can check who had sent it to her.

"You may not see this, my lord. But I was told you'd be arriving on Nar Shaddaa in a few days by your apprentice when we met on Dromound Kaas. I am off your extended leave by three days, and will be returning alongside Jaesa when you arrive." He bows politely, and she can now see this was recorded instead of directly calling her because of the lack of reaction of seeing her, "I will see you soon, my lord."

Even through the holo, it feels like his piercing blue eyes are most literally piercing through her soul. Yavin IV was _supposed_ to be focused on Revan and inadvertently teasing Theron. Quinn wasn't due to be back until after Yavin, but he must've met Jaesa along the way, and Jaesa would've unwillingly told him where she was going if he asked her. Given, Tri'ama had never distinctly told him what he was to do after the leave was over, but returning to her service wasn't supposed to be in the cards for him. He was supposed to _stay_ gone, even him staying on Dromound Kaas was better than waking up to him working in the cockpit every morning. Those lingering gazes for someone who wasn't his anymore, the shadows he cast in the dimlit Fury still haunted her.

"Crewmember?" Theron asks, as she slips her holocom back into her pocket, hiding her clenched fists inside before pulling them back out, trembling. He's probably able to tell she's upset, but she puts on a diluted smile anyways and ignores the curious look in his eyes.

"Captain Malavai Quinn." She swallows over a lump in her throat, a ball of anxiety winding itself up in her stomach as she pronounces the name with mild distaste, "Pilot and our medic."

He raises an eyebrow, "He hasn't been back in a while?" He quizzically asks, gesturing to the stripped bunk. All Tri'ama can do to keep from bolting out the room and hiding in her own is nod. The man thinks to himself as she moves to leave, "Wasn't he on Manaan with you?"

"That's the one." She tries to says jokingly, her back turned to him. Tri'ama doesn't want to explain much further than just that, and leave the explanation there in case she makes Theron feel threatened by him. What was there to be threatened by? Quinn was a lowly captain and Theron would be out of here in a few days. Her ex-husband, maybe, would get pushy and ask Vette or Pierce about it. Vette would surely answer about Theron (sarcastically and pointedly), and then she'd have Quinn quizzically asking her about the relation between the two. Quinn had never harassed her before their divorce, but she wasn't putting it past him now. He'd become rather sarcastic and cold when he'd found out about her and Pierce, and to say the least, she's more than concerned about the idea of what he would do now about an SIS agent.

 _Detour._ Detour to Dromound Kaas after Theron was dropped off to formally get rid of him. She has to, or she'll go mad.

She leaves the crew quarters just as the agent moves to talk to her. Tri'ama has to make a decision soon, and whether or not this was worth continuing in the next few months. _She might hurt him, but he's had other failed affairs before, he'll get over it_ , she thinks bitterly, _people have gotten over me for less. Theron's no different._

She hopes.

-

**THERON._THE_FURY.**

Theron Shan doesn't get attached easily. Mistakes in the past hammered that home quick enough (a certain Cathar specifically), and still he stands looking at where she'd just been standing longingly as if, if he stares long enough she'll come back. The blonde Sith had taken over his thoughts in a way that shouldn't have been so distracting. He figured in the beginning she was only teasing and didn't actually think all that highly of him, as he'd learned from his dealings with Sith previously. The teasing manner she'd flirted with him on Manaan, the lingering touches after their mission on Rakata Prime. Lana had even had half a mind to tell him that the Wrath did talk about him in a complimentary manner. He'd laughed it off and they'd gone their separate ways after that.

But for some reason the two years in between last seeing her and now, Tri'ama has been unforgivingly on his mind. Caught himself about thinking how she spun through the air with her double sabers, the way her (now he knew they were grey when she wasn't pissed off at the entire galaxy) amber eyes glowed as she fought. He'd be lying if he said she wasn't a beautiful force of nature to be reckoned with, and for once he was glad a Sith was on his side and not against him.

Theron had never seen her in an environment outside of fighting before, but he was beginning to see her without her respirator more and more often. Those encounters tended to end up with a small kiss here or there, and he was taking notice of the scars that adorned her face. They weren't immediately obvious, but upon closer inspection, he could see there was a faded scar above her eyebrow, another on the corner of her left lip. One on her neck was a fading blue bruise, another just under her chin. It serves as a reminder that he's probably on egg shells with the woman, and that she is most literally one of the most dangerous people he knows. How he'd ended up with the _Emperor's Wrath_ taking a less than professional interest in him, he wasn't sure. She'd even gotten redressed before he'd arrived, the half armor and battle boots traded in for what felt like a silky material against his fingertips, a laced front with a half skirt and eye-catching red leggings. It was sleeveless and a high collar, something that Theron wouldn't have imagined she'd ever wear. Not that it wasn't stunning on her, but the Wrath seemed more like a rough and tumble kind of woman than someone who'd dress up like she was attending a gala.

Left alone in the crew quarters now and taking in his surrounding, he's curious about this Malavai Quinn person. Maybe it's not his business, but the way Tri'ama's skin had paled at that holorecording and hurriedly left without even saying goodbye makes him think there's more to the story than he's been privy to. Given he never paid much attention to her company on Manaan, but he wonders if there was something he could've done. Not that he would've gotten involved in something personal between the two (it literally couldn't have been any further from being his business), and Tri'ama wasn't obligated to share either. He doesn't push this issue. People he'd been with before tended not to want to share with their one-night stand very calmly.

The next two days are rather uneventful, but welcome. He learns the Twi'lek (Vette) is an escape artist from her past (she doesn't elaborate, and Theron's not sure if he wants to know), and also one of Tri'ama's confidants alongside Lieutenant Pierce. At first he's not sure what to make of the Imperial soldier (his own upbringing effectively making him wary of anyone flying the Empire's flag), but the gruff man is surprisingly not plotting his downfall. How easily she relaxes and jokes around her current two companions is a nice change from the wound up woman he'd met on Rishi. Whatever emotional toll had happened with the Captain is gone from her, or as far as he can see. Under the guise of needing to fix things here and there in the cargo bay, near the hyperdrive, stars _anywhere_ that Tri'ama could get him without garnering the attention of her companions he swears that these are the best two and a half days he's ever had with a woman. She's gentle, sometimes, luring him in with those surprisingly innocent grey eyes of hers and soft kisses, others he's careful to leave the collar up on his jacket. The skin bruised where she'd broken it rather easily, and for some reason she liked to run a finger over them she thought he didn't know she was there. It's hot, if he's being honest.

Tri'ama was different than some other women though, he'd get tantalizingly close to having his fingers run over any bare skin he could find, one hand sliding up her shirt before she chuckled darkly and forced his hand back out, a smug smirk on her face while she leans in to kiss him, loosely straddling him. Theron's sure she has her reasons for doing so, but he'd be lying if he said she wasn't frustrating in that regard. How close she is, how close she stays is not going to be easy to forget after Yavin. The way she caresses his face in her callused hands, how her accent becomes so pronounced when she whispers his name in the darkness of the cargo bay, the taste of something sweet on her lips. It's intoxicating, and he's not sure any woman in the galaxy has the right be this beautiful _and_ forbidden.

The darkness of the Fury is enough to remind him that he isn't exactly among friends. (though he doesn't have the same reaction to the Talz twice, the fluffy _murderer_ still sends a shiver down his spine, it didn't help Tri'ama told him he had acquired a _stealth generator_ at some point too) There's no way that this is going to last, as much as he wants it to. If her rampage through Rishi didn't prove it, she's pure Sith. Not the pureblood kind, but she also has a certain aura about her. She had clashed hard with the Barsen'thor and had proven she could be ruthless and relentless no matter the circumstances. He had yet to see if she was an Imperial loyalist or just someone proficient with the dark side that ended up on that side of war. Her actions weren't easy to discern either, whether she was neutral or sadistic beneath her actions for justice.

Theron's curious about her. Her file had landed on his desk straight after their Manaan excursion by request of some higher up in the SIS, and it wasn't extremely informative (that was the point apparently, they thought he could fill more in for them). No one in the SIS was sure of a lot of things because of her reclusive manner on the battlefield, only that most turned up dead or missing after a violent meeting with her. She was a one women wrecking crew and had broke frontlines across the galaxy, winning quite a few battles for her faction. Tri'ama was a Darth, 23, and her file had read Amarillis-Quinn as her surname.

Now really thinking about it, he lies awake on the night of the second day wondering whether it had anything to do with the Captain. To say he was nosy was one thing, but he also wonders if that's what had her so nervous the first day, breathing hard and near tears. A passing thought is that she's still married to him and has taken Theron as a...mistress of sorts. He feels it wouldn't be outside what he knows Sith can do and will get away with, but he has a lot of questions he'd rather get answered before they land and he lets it seep into his work on Yavin. Hell, she's going to be on his mind the whole time anyways, might as well know where he stands now.

He slips out of the crew quarters, only Vette rolling over in her sleep being the evidence he'd left. The door soundlessly closes behind him, and luckily he finds Tri'ama laying against the lounge couches, holocom playing a soft song and datapad in her hands. She doesn't see him at first, enamored with whatever she's working on (he's still learning about their culture, but he was surprised Tri'ama did any of her own work, unlike others he'd met), but a mischeveous smile crosses her face as she puts it down, her eyes a blazing amber, lust clouding them over but some sadness beneath the red corneas, "What has you up at this time of night, Theron? Not me, I hope." she purrs.

"And if it is?" He asks, sliding in next to her. She leans against him, though a shaky sigh escapes her. From the sound alone and the muffled sniffle against her nightshirt, he doesn't have to be a genius to deduce she's not doing so well right now. Whatever tears there were she's already dried from her face as she turns to look at him. He doesn't go looking for evidence that she'd been upset or, but she's oddly aggressive today when she turns to kiss him. One hand in his hair, the other lying on his shoulder as she most literally smashes her lips on his with little regard for the person beneath her. At first he doesn't see anything unusual about it. It seemed that was just how Tri'ama was, aggressively taking what she wanted (and for the moment, that was Theron), until the teasing that often got his hands shoved away from goes unpunished. It's an oddity in itself, and though this is technically what he's been waiting for, but she isn't composed the way she is typically. As much she can nip at his bottom lip and make him want more than she's giving, her racing heart beneath his finger tips is concerning as he puts a hand on her bare waist.

His eyes linger to the game table turned workspace. She's beginning to tell he's distracted, and she gives him a pointed look, "You're distracted."

"A little." He answers, and she frowns but pulls herself off from his lap where she'd been seated previously. The best way to phrase this was outright, she'd made it clear she didn't like it when people beat around the bush with certain issues, but she was already disraught and making it worse probably wouldn't bode well for him. His eyes flicker to her datapad for a moment, and then a glinting gold ring next to it.

All prepared for Quinn's return, he supposes.

His eyes linger too long, he thinks, because Tri'ama won't meet his eyes anymore, "Tri'ama, are you married?"

Shock is the first to go through her facial expressions, before she glances at the ring and her eyes harden and glow a darker gold. _Well Theron Shan, you screwed up the most dangerous romances you've ever been in. Close your eyes and it'll all be over soon._

He braces for something, anything. A slap to the face, a force choking, shouting maybe, but all she does is shut off the datapad with defeat written all over her face. She's angry, but not with him. Tri'ama twiddles the ring in between her fingers, before using the Force to levitate it above her palm. Theron's sure her mind is running like a freight train, but he doesn't question her. It takes a while, she considers the ring as it floats, and she lays back into him. Theron chastises himself for a moment, he wasn't supposed to get involved in her personal life that much, but here he was at an ungodly hour of the morning asking about her marital status, "Just, forget I asked."

"No. The easy answer is no. Legally, it's complicated." Tri'ama answers quietly, the anger flowing out of her as the bottomless silver eyes return, "I was married to Quinn shortly before I met you. I wished to be divorced, but I was too tied up in other matters to really pay any attention to the process. It was denied for some odd reason. I sent him away for as long as I could, but he's due back tomorrow."

"And you don't know what to do with him." Theron finishes. She makes a noise in confirmation.

"I apologize for keeping you in the dark about this. I didn't think he'd return so abruptly and--" she gestures to him as she runs a hand through her hair, "I don't know what we are, Theron. If I chose to be...I don't know, your _girlfriend_ in the long run, it wouldn't end well for either of us. You'd probably lose your job, I'd be scorned and lose my seat. I can't say I don't have feelings for you, but maybe we should slow down and brace ourselves for Yavin."

"What-what is that supposed to mean?" He's thought of this already, but the way she chokes up over _girlfriend_ isn't reassuring, "I knew we weren't dating, but what does this mean?"

Tri'ama makes to leave, but not before pressing a lingering kiss to his lips, "It means I think this should end before we make it harder on ourselves to leave."

He isn't even thinking rationally at this very moment, holding one of her hands in his, "Tri'ama wait. Is this because the Captain is coming back tomorrow? I can leave earlier if that's the case."

Her eyes are misted over with unshed tears as she grips the ring in her fist, "Maybe, maybe not. Theron, there's no other connection other than that we find each other attractive. I barely know anything about you, I couldn't get in contact with you for two years. Once Yavin is finished, I'll never see you again. All this--" she's getting frustrated, maybe with herself or maybe with the situation, "I wish I could have longterm. But, the last time I got attached too quickly I was married to a traitor for years. Make this easy on yourself, and enjoy the rest of the night."

They've trailed to her quarters, and she steps inside, "Tri'ama."

"Theron." She hesitates, possibly considering her previous statement before kissing him hard. He can't even breathe, and then it's over and the door closes behind her. He doesn't even know why he's upset, she's right. In every single way she's right. He just hadn't wanted to consider it, say it out loud and admit it, and her emotions are amplified by her ex-husband's return the day after. There's a loud crash behind the door, and he winces before heading back to the crew quarters. Both companions are still in a blissful sleep, but Theron can't get a wink of it the rest of the night. He eventually pulls out his datapad and starts working instead. Keeping busy would keep his mind off of her.

When Vette and Pierce begin to stir a few hours later, he finds he hasn't slept.

-

**TRI'AMA._NAR_SHADDAA.**

"Jaesa. You're looking well." Tri'ama is trying to distract herself from the fiasco that had been the night prior. Theron is still looking like someone kicked his akk puppy, and she's steeling herself into being a Darth again. Back in her more Imperial styled armor than what she had been in the last few days, it feels...off. Her respirator has been snapped back into place, and thankfully it makes her feel safer instead of constricted, "Welcome back to the Fury, apprentice."

"It is good to be back." Jaesa deadpans as she bows respectfully, "The missions went well."

"I'm sure they did, with you at the head. Good work." She praises the young woman. Jaesa has the inkling of a smile on her face, but quickly drops the smile when they both hear boots on the ground and Vette sucks in an apprehensive breath, "The Captain managed to get your schedule from me. I apologize."

"It isn't your fault, Jaesa. I blame you for nothing." Tri'ama stands up straighter, facing Quinn for the first time in nearly four years. She's trembling, but hides her hands behind her back, "Captain."

"My lord." He bows, a bag by his feet. She keeps her eyes trained on him, as if that will soothe her anxiety. It doesn't, her breath only quickening as his eyes land on her's. One of the first thing she noticed about him was his eyes, how they were so similar to her own. 

Her neck is covered, her hands are covered. No skin can be seen except for her face, and even that is hidden beneath a cowl. _He can't hurt her_ , "I am grateful you've brought me back into your service."

"Of course, Captain." Detour, detour, detour. She hopes the divorce papers went through and so did the reassignment. To Darth Aghdani specifically, hopefully the pureblood wouldn't call her in a fit of rage wondering why the man was annoying her. If she's lucky, she'll get him killed on a backwater planet somewhere, or stab him outright for his uptight behavior. If she's not so lucky, she'll take a liking to him and the cycle will start again, "Welcome back."

All Tri'ama wants is him gone. If things work out, Pierce will take him back to Dromound Kaas under false pretenses and Vette will join her on Yavin. Then, smooth sailing from there. Out of sight, out of mind.

Two days.

It will only be two days. She can do this.

Can she?

 _You hurt Theron because of this_ , one annoying thought says, _He probably hates you now_.

"Darth Amarillis." Theron's clipped voice startles her out of her thoughts he steps out of the Fury. There's a sad aura about him, one of melancholy and possibly longing. However that's as much as she gets because he's closed himself off again. He looks more tired than he did the night before, and as much as she wants to run up and hug him, she stays firmly planted as he comes up to her, "I'll be taking my leave."

"I will see you again on Yavin, Agent Shan." Theron's name nearly slips out before she corrects herself. He'd never called her Darth Amarillis before, he'd always referred to her as simply 'the Wrath', and most recently her first name. But if he wants to play professional SIS agent and act like they aren't friendly (Tri'ama's burned that bridge and she didn't even explain herself fully to him, instead throwing a crate across her room in anger and sadness. Her room's a mess right now and she has no intention of cleaning it), she can do that too, "Safe travels, agent."

He doesn't even respond to her farewell, leaving the hangar and taking the lift down at a brisk pace. Quinn raises an eyebrow as he leaves in a perfect Imperial accent that she's come to hate coming from him, "If I may ask, a friend of yours, my lord?"

"An ally in our fight with the Revanites, yes." She responds, watching Theron leave. Hopefully, her face doesn't betray her emotions, "You and Jaesa can re-organize yourselves on the Fury, I'm sure Toovee will be ecstatic to see you again."

"Of course, my lord." He and Jaesa head inside (the latter seems emotionless about it, but is radiating annoyance in her force signature), and Vette narrows her eyes at the Imperial Captain's retreating form before coming closer to her.

"You could've just refused that jerk back onto your crew, Tri'ama." Vette says, visibly frustrated as she throws up her hands in the air, "I don't want to deal with him for however long you're going to drag this out for." Pierce nods, a grunt of agreement from him, "We should've just taken Theron in instead." she adds, "Least he had a sense of humor".

"I'm sorry Vette. I would make him go if I could." She can feel the tears welling up in her eyes and her voice shakes as she apologizes, but hopes the cowl shadows enough of her face so that the two remaining companions can't see them, "He'll be out of our hair soon. But for now, I'll have to put my prejudices behind me and get to Yavin before people question where I am and begin the fight against Revan, regardless of my personal opinions."

Vette and Pierce are silent for a moment, before Vette hugs her outright and Pierce puts a comforting hand on her shoulder, "We're here for you, and I know Jaesa would be down her too if she could be."

For once, Tri'ama hugs back tighter than she ever has. It hurts, all she wants is to run away to the Outer Rim, blazes anywhere else but here and show Theron just how much she appreciates him away from all the stereotypes and racism and prejudice that the Empire and Republic have for each other. Be away from Quinn, just take Jaesa, Pierce, Vette and Broonmark with them. Still, she's not sure she ever wants commitment again, the ring heavy in her pocket, but she wants just one more night with the SIS agent. One more night to explain everything, one more night to press her body against his, feel his warm and nimble fingers against her again.

And now he's gone.

-

**THERON._JAKARRO'S_SHIP.**

_"Have fun with your Sith friend?"_ Jakarro asks as Theron boards the freighter ship with an ugly groan at the question, _"You were eager to be with her. Hope you had fun."_

"Don't push the questions, Jakarro." He nearly growls at the Wookie in frustration. Jakarro doesn't press for more answers as Theron stalks down the hall to the crew quarters. They were empty, as always, and it's enough that he sinks onto one of the bunks. He's nearly tearing his hair out in anger. The blonde Sith had basically told him she didn't want him anymore. He has half a mind to think she lied to him and really is still married to Quinn. If she only wanted him as a plaything, he's rather offended.

But it's not like he didn't go into this thinking it'd be a one night stand and nothing more. Why did he still think of her like she was his then?

 _Because you're infatuated with her, you just don't want to admit it in fear of committing to a Sith lord_ , he thinks. Stars, what would his father think if he had taken her as his--girlfriend no less?

_Does he even care what he thinks?_

He spends the rest of the trip to Yavin busying himself with work to get her _dismissal_ off his mind. According to the reports, the Imperials were bringing in a certain Darth Nox alongside the Wrath, and the Barsen'thor would return with her own crew in tow. All force users. Nox wasn't much better than the Wrath in terms of her record with the Republic, but at least she could foot the bill with some serious damage if push came to shove and her reputation within the Empire respectively would help with the coalition. It would've been nice to have another Jedi, but he can't complain.

He's going to miss her, but enough work and some alcohol should be just would the doctor ordered to keep his longing for the Sith under wraps. Yavin would be one of the biggest battles he'd faced in years, and he didn't intend to fail.

He hopes.


	10. Barsen'thor's Bane - Yavin IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naji deals with effects of the Alliance -- on her mental stability, understanding of others and strange bond with the Wrath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, this chapter is primarily exposition because I haven't had many Naji focused chapters. She's not a side character, and deserves some character building just as much as Tri'ama does. It doesn't pertain too much to the story in the end, but some cute Felix/Naji moments in there too.

**NAJI._YAVIN_IV.**

The coalition's atmosphere is strained midst the rains of Yavin. Heavily strained. Whether it's because Darth Marr and Satele have two opposing views on how to best deal with Revan that they hide under diplomatic insults, the little glances here and there that Theron and the Wrath keep sharing but then denying one another, Darth Nox's unneeded strategic thoughts _that would surely get them all killed_ and Whyatt's need to be anywhere but here, Naji is very sure that the coalition is not getting off on the right foot.

Personally, she thinks Yavin should've only consisted of the four that had met on Manaan. At least it would've been a great deal calmer, and figures more would've gotten done by now. She appreciated Whyatt's hand in the war against the Revanites, the Defender of Tython was calmer and more composed than that of Nox, but he was also young, barely 22. He'd just dealt with the Emperor's Voice alongside the Hero of Tython, Tonee Atiya, and had been unceremoniously swept up into the Revanite business nearly immediately afterwards when Tonee had disappeared without a trace. The poor boy was still reeling from the loss of his Master. He had better relations with Satele than most of them did (bitterly she remembers Theron is her son, but Whyatt had known her a great deal longer than the SIS agent had), and she would pay good money to see them fighting together. They had similar strategic ideas and talked throughout the entire meeting as if they were one and the same (meekly Naji added her own from their excursion on Rishi), though curiously Theron stayed quiet on their side of the meeting except for small additions here and there. 

Nox and Marr, stars they were very similar. Where the woman had met the Sith lord, she isn't sure and is afraid to ask of how they'd become aligned on this mission. Darth Nox (or as they were introduced, Mierrio Revel-Kallig) is extremely pale, her narrow eyes a shade of yellow she had yet to see from even the Wrath, and the cold, calculating way she glances at Naji gives her the chills. Dark hair accentuated with gold hair clips frame her high cheekbones, and she wears black robes. A tight-black flight suit with a gold belt and black robe over her arms, the woman carries a lavender doublesaber at her hip, purple lightning crackling at her fingertips. Nox is high class, she won't deny her that.

At least Lana seemed sure-footed here, adding in where she could. Lana was in her element among the other Sith, sending their forces wherever need be to accomplish the mission at hand. The three worked like a well-oiled machine until they clashed with the Republic. Then, it was all out war at the table, insults being thrown, basically fighting but the kind you did with eloquent words instead of yelling.

Tri'ama, though, was very clearly conflicted with Theron (she also bickers with Nox, and it's not friendly from what she's overheard). It was written all over her presence, though most of it was covered by a black hood and her respirator. The woman was constantly shifting, pacing around her side of the table as she silently observed. Every once in a while she lifts her head to where Theron was working, datapad in hand. Then, glance back down at the table as if she wasn't thinking about him. Theron would then do the same, fingers stilling on the datapad as he wistfully (that's too pretty a word for what's going on here, but it would have to do for the time being) looks at her when she isn't looking at him. Naji has a lot of questions, such as what had happened in between Rishi and now to have caused such behavior. Though she's sure they didn't so much as suspect, she had been privy to emotions that made her shiver to her core. The Consular wasn't as blind as the Wrath made her out to be. No one just blindly rushed into enemy lines to rescue someone they didn't care about personally. No one stuck around a planet they admitted to despising for someone they hated. There's longing written all over her force signature, even if she runs into a wall trying to delve deeper. Theron's more careful with his thoughts, and she isn't so much as able to to even find a single emotion more than annoyance.

Maybe she's just reading the room wrong. Maybe they were trying to avoid suspicion by Satele or something or the other, putting up a front. It wasn't her business to be prying into their...relationship. Whatever Theron and Tri'ama wanted to get up to was all on them. She had bigger concerns. She wouldn't go as far as to say she wasn't even a tad bit concerned about the two though, and her conversation with Theron over her holocom while she and Tri'ama were putting up sensors confirmed that something was amiss. With Tri'ama or with Lana, she didn't ask. The fact he'd wanted her to slice into the sensor and spy on the Empire was unsettling, if she's being honest. It didn't mean she didn't assist him though, but she regrets it now. Hopefully none of their extremely important secrets became privy to the Republic.

 _This isn't your mystery to solve (as frustrating as it is)_ , she reminds herself while watching the Wrath hack at a Yavin beast from afar with increasing fury as it refuses to bow down to her or even attempt to run, zoning out as Theron asks her a question she doesn't catch, _They're both adults, and you barely know them as it is._

"What're you thinking about?" Felix asks, dressed down, as she opens her eyes from meditation. Not a deep one, not enough to be startled by his arrival, but she's still a little disoriented as her eyes refocus on her bedroom. Everything with Revan was throwing her off and real meditation had been hard to come by for months now. To say her mind was like the holonet would be an understatement - it wouldn't shut off no matter what she did.

"Everything. And surprisingly, nothing." She answers, taking his hand to pull herself up from her meditation mat. Her hair is still damp from being out in Yavin's wildlife (though she'd blow dried it when she returned), but unlike most other soldiers, she was lucky enough to return to the _Polaris_ for her downtime. It's warmer than the jungle, and more importantly it has her crew on it. Zenith and Bisauur have returned from Balmorra, she and Nadia have been more in tune than ever, Tharan has been tinkering away for days in the cargo hold with a promising project, and Qyzen is back from his hunt, "I was only waiting on you to return." 

Felix, oh her darling Felix is back in her arms. All is right in the world again, and his soft kisses are worth all the time she spends fighting the ancient evil. All she can do these days is wait impatiently until she can return _home_. It's out of place in the middle of their campaign, but the crew of the _Polaris_ will always stay with her long enough to watch a silly holo and get the responsibilities of the day prior off her shoulders. Felix is always there until she wakes up, his auburn eyes always twinkling whenever he sees her as they lie in bed, tangled in each other's arms. Somedays, she laughs to herself, it's too cold to leave his embrace early in the morning, though she dealt with much worse when she first met him, "Don't push yourself too hard out there." Felix reminds her when she eventually pulls away from him, a smile on his face, "Won't have any strength left to deal with everything else."

"Might as well be a Jedi with that astute observation." She smiles, and he chuckles at her joke, "And you know I don't push myself anymore than need be, the Sith make me."

"Don't like them?" He asks as she makes to pull her robes off and put them away neatly into their shared storage locker. She raises as a quizzical eyebrow, Felix knows the answer to that question better than anyone after everything they'd been through, and it's a resounding no, "Thought we were supposed to be working with them."

"I never said I wasn't going to. Simply that I found myself being continually annoyed by the Sith and their _shenanigans_." Naji has a hard time getting her hands back to the zipper keeping her undersuit in place as she says this with disdain, upper arms sore from the fighting earlier in the day, but Felix is quick to pull it down for her with practiced ease. She leans into his warm touch and sighs. He's effectively distracting her from pulling it off by hugging her around the waist and laying his chin down on her shoulder, "Nox especially. She's tormenting Whyatt, trying to scare the Force out of him and off the planet. I don't know what Satele was thinking, bringing him onboard this mission."

"The Defender of Tython, Whyatt Grace?" Felix asks, letting her go as she softly struggles out of his grip with a grin as she slips a t-shirt on, shimmying into a pair of relaxed leggings and out of her boots. Felix didn't often remember the Jedi she kept as company, and she's grateful that Whyatt was among the ones he did. He'd tries so much to understand the Jedi side of her life, and she's more than happy he didn't brush it off in favor of ignorant bliss, "Wasn't he just recognized for defeating the Emperor?"

"His Voice. Not the actual Emperor, that's the one we're chasing down here on Yavin. Poor kid's been through more than I have, and he needs a break before he literally _breaks_. Satele, I think, brought him out of spite because word was that Darth Nox was arriving to fight the Emperor alongside the Wrath and it would've left the Republic always in the favor of the Empire's choices. I understand some of her reasoning, but Master Catharii would've been a better choice."

"The Miraluka we met back on Voss?" The man had been a curious, temporary, addition to the crew to help with other matters within the Rift Alliance while she hunted down the Children of the Emperor. Catharii (preferred Cat) was a few years older than she was, and more knowledgeable about a lot of things. He didn't laugh when she asked questions, and in fact continued to tutor her even after Syo had been returned to Tython to be rehabilitated. Naji appreciated his mentorship, and she nods in response with a wistful look in her eyes, "Suppose he'd be better than a Jedi who needs therapy."

"He'd be more willing as well. I don't know the full extent of Nox's powers yet, and while Whyatt is extremely powerful, a more experienced Jedi would be the better option here." She sighs, flopping back onto the bed unceremoniously, Felix giving her a knowing look and crawling in beside her after shucking off his boots, "It seems like there's so much to do. I _should_ be able to do it all, keeping a least a small sense of balance between these factions. I ran the Rift Alliance, it feels like it shouldn't be all that different. I should be able to keep them in check and stay the diplomat. But still, they bicker and bicker and bicker over old politics and I'm afraid Revan's going to hunt us down himself if nothing gets done."

Felix is quiet for a moment as she thinks to herself. He takes her hand in his as she curls into him, pressed up against him as her mind slows its panic, "Naj. You can't take the galaxy on without help. Yes, you helped the Rift Alliance, but don't forget that you needed help yourself. I remember you'd been so stressed, running all over the place trying to make everyone happy. I admired you not because you tried keeping everything together for so long, but because you put your heart and soul into it. You cared so much for people you didn't even know, tried to get me, Zenith and Nadia settled in even though you didn't know us." He brushes a curl of hair away from her face, his warm palm pressed against her cheek, "Maybe this is on a bigger scale. I can't say, 'just accept help' because I know it doesn't come easy to you. Just, maybe don't forget that there are people who want to help you with this. Like the man you married years ago."

A grin crosses Naji's lips by the small reference to their marriage on Tython. Felix is right, and he's been her biggest supporter even through the darkest of times. Not _everything_ is her responsibility, but it doesn't mean she doesn't still struggle with it. At the best of times, it feels like her hands stop shaking for a few moments and she can enjoy the quiet, but at the worst of times she can't be around other people without feeling like a disappointment. Naji had always been an anxious child before she'd arrived on the Jedi homeworld, but it was increased by the trials being cut early (Naji worried she wouldn't be taught enough to be worth much), her Master nearly dying (Naji worried she would die and then she'd be alone all over again), the fate of the other Jedi resting on her shoulders as she hunted down Parkanas (Naji worried she would fail and the Jedi would fall), the rise of the Rift Alliance (Naji worried that though she'd been raised a diplomat, that she'd ultimately fail because she wasn't a people person), and the hunting of the Children of The Emperor (Naji worried she wouldn't be able to find them all before they wreaked havoc on the galaxy). 

Meditation with Nadia always seemed to help (though at first Naji believed she was only putting her anxiety onto another person; it wasn't), the occasional therapeutic conversation with Zenith (he was good company and offered good advice), and of course, spending quiet time with her husband. Her anxiety hadn't been erased, in fact her hands were shaking now as she pushes herself up to turn the lights in their room off. Naji's worried, she's always worried about something. Something going horribly wrong, someone dying because of _her_. It's a horrible feeling at the best of times, and she feels like she's losing herself to the void. Sometimes, she wonders if it would've been better to stay solitary and unmarried, so Felix didn't have to do his own worrying about her. It's hard not to feel like a burden to him, no matter how much he says he loves her no matter what. 

She drifts off into a dreamless sleep. When she wakes again, Felix is there.

He's always there.

They get dressed together, the process slowed by small kisses here and there over the other's exposed skin. The _Polaris_ wakens with her, caf enjoyed by all as everyone gets ready for the day's adventures. One forehead kiss for Nadia, a cheek kiss for Bisauur. Luck for Qyzen's hunt, a half hug for Tharan, a wave for Holiday, kind words for Zenith. And of course, one lingering kiss for her soldier.

-

"Theron trusted me, and I don't think he ever will again." Naji is about to leave the staging area to head out into the troop encampment, when she can overhear the Sith Lord talking to someone. It's not her business, as she's found most things tend not to be when dealing with the Empire and Sith, but at the risk of seeming nosy, she stands behind a tree, masks her presence, and hopes Lana won't sense her.

"I won't say what you did wasn't wrong, had he not been as strong as you knew him to be, or lapsed in his mental strength, you could've killed him, Lana. Then you'd be out a spy, and if the Wrath is as infatuated with him as you say, you would've lost her as well. Not to mention Satele." The voice isn't distinctly Imperial, in fact it sounds Republic. The other woman's voice drops from a faintly accusatory tone to a softer one, and she sighs, "But you did accomplish something that lead to victory, and it's not like he can hate you forever."

"I know you're right, but the sense of betrayal Theron must feel..." Lana's voice has a sad tone to it. It's surprising the way she talks about it, Naji had previously believed...well that Lana didn't care much for it. Then again, there's always two sides to the same coin and it seemed as if Lana didn't differ from it, "I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel any remorse for him after what I did."

"I know, I know. But all you can do now is try to be the best version of yourself that you can be. If, and only if, he calls on you for something, try and provide it to the best of your ability. Trust in this galaxy isn't doled out lightly, and it sounds like your agent isn't exempt from this rule either." Something crashes in the background of the connection, and the woman swears in what she thinks is fluent Huttese, "Sorry Lana, but I've gotta go. Damn ship is falling apart beneath my feet and I swear Corso is going to get himself killed one of these days..." The woman chuckles quietly, Naji can barely pick it out, "I'll see you soon, love."

"Be careful, it won't be long now." Lana answers, a smile in her voice, "Take care, love."

And with that, it's quiet as the holocom is shut off. Naji makes to leave, she's already heard more of the conversation than she intended to, before she can sense Lana's presence nearly right behind her. Naji instinctively puts her hands up in fright, whirling around to face the blonde Sith, "What are you doing here, Barsen'thor?"

"If you're wondering, I didn't hear anything. I was just going to leave, is all." Her heart is racing again, thumping beneath her rib cage as her breath grows short, "I just saw you talking to someone is all as I passed by."

Maybe because she's scared, but Naji doesn't realize at first that Lana isn't particularily upset with her. Or maybe she's calculating the best way to get away with murder. Naji's never been good at figuring out Sith.

Yes, Naji had lied about how long she'd been there and she feels bad about it, but her curiousity is also fighting for dominance. In the recesses of her mind, she wonders what kind of life Lana leads outside the coalition. She knows she worked for Arkous at some point, but after that she doesn't know much about the pragmatic Sith Lord. Should she ask? Naji hasn't shared much about her own life with Lana, and figures their already strained acquaintanceship shouldn't be tested at this very moment and holds her tongue.

"It's no one important." Lana answers, her voice a hard monotone compared to the tone she used with the woman on the holo, her stature rigid and amber eyes hardened, "Did you need something?" She asks, effectively closing off that topic to her. That's fair, yet again it wasn't her business to press for unnecessary information that didn't pertain to their mission. She hasn't yet told anyone about Felix and hers relationship (she believes Satele is the only one privy to that information), so she's not extremely pushy about finding out about the woman Lana had been talking to.

"Not at this very moment, no." Naji begins, hoping to get away from the awkward situation, before reconsidering, "Do you by any chance know what's going on with Tri'ama?"

Lana looks surprised by the question, "I don't know what you mean by that. Is there something wrong with her?"

"I...it's hard to describe. Don't you just...feel it? Feel the tension in the air? The Wrath is apprehensive about everything, and more prone to aggression than usual. It's nearly suffocating whenever I'm near her. I know it's not really your concern, being busy with everything else and all, but I thought maybe...because you both were from the same faction you'd know something." It sounds bad now that she says it, assuming all of the Imperials were conspiring with one another, but she figures if anyone knows, it's Lana. Or Vette. But Naji doesn't know Vette, she'd rather their relationship didn't start out by her asking weird questions about the Sith Lord she kept company with, "Sorry, that sounded rude." She mumbles.

Lana muses for a moment. Offense isn't taken by the way she considers the question, but she looks genuinely curious now, "I understand your concern now that I think on it. I'm not privy to the Wrath's presence, it was rather hard to detect even before now, but she has been a wild card as of late. The fury I felt the other day when you both returned from setting up the sensors..."

"It's stifling, isn't it?" Naji asks, remembering how it felt to be around her constantly. It nearly smothers her own presence, and if she's feeling strongly about something, it makes her feel as if she's seeing the world through the Wrath's eyes than her own. If the Wrath is angry about _something_ , Naji can feel herself getting ticked off at every little thing someone does. If the Wrath is in one of her lonely moods, Naji feels her own sort of longing for her small family and stars forbid the Wrath is apprehensive about something. It only increases her anxiety tenfold. At least, until the Wrath leaves the immediate area and she can think on her own again, "Doesn't it bother you?"

"No." Lana answers, looking rather confused, "It was little more than a passing feeling I felt off of her. It's the first real emotion I've felt off of her since we landed. I'm surprised you had such a reaction to it. To put it simply, it's a tad odd you would have such an ability to sense it all, especially if it's affecting you directly."

"Oh." So it was an adverse reaction. If Lana hadn't sensed it, and was still assuming Tri'ama had shut herself off to everyone else, Naji was really going mad. There was a reason she already didn't like Yavin and quickly made a mental note to visit Tython for some cleansing when their mission was done, "Never mind then."

Lana bids her a clipped farewell. It will still be a while before she and the Wrath are due head out to the Temple to deal with the Imperial guard, and Felix is probably assisting where he can with the Republic troops in the meantime. If her husband was one thing, he was a solider at heart, and she didn't need to go distract him from what he was doing. She'd have him all to herself later anyways. Naji could wait a few hours.

As much as she doesn't want to.

Yavin is beautiful, but the Force is strong here as well. Maybe that's what's driving her and the Wrath's emotions up the wall, rather than whatever's attempting to haunt her. She wanders about the jungle nearby the staging area, picking a bright pink flower out from the bush it rested on. Its coloring is beautiful in the dim light of the rainy morning, and she'd appreciate it more if the reason for them being here wasn't so dark. It's only then that she wonders what would've happened had she not been sent to the Jedi. Naji has faint memories of growing up on a city world, though where she's unsure. Her records are locked away somewhere, and those memories are always of her mother. Blonde, piercing blue eyes that always had a joke behind them. Naji's not naive enough to not realize just how young she remembered her mother being, barely the age that she is now. Frowning, she wonders what her mother would think of her today. It had been a short three years before she was given away, but infantile memory loss hadn't affected her as badly as she'd first assumed. Her mother had been kind, a bright smile on her painted lips, always. Naji couldn't think of a moment she'd seen her frowning.

She twists the pink flower in her fingers, admiring it before deciding to put it behind her ear. The frustrated presence grows nearer, and she steels herself for the overload of emotions as the Wrath stalks nearer. Her new armor set was a surprise, fully covering her this time. All lighter armor, black. Other than wisps of blonde hair, only her amber eyes were visible on her face.

"Are we ready to head out?" Naji asks, a light grimace disguised as a smile on her face.

-

Naji is horrified for two reasons when they return to the staging area.

One, because she wonders if all Imperials are eating out the Emperor's palm like the deranged Imperial Guard. Naji personally wasn't religious, but even she can't comprehend how the Empire would've dropped so low to present themselves as willing servants of such a mad figure. She'd been so fearful she hadn't even begun to sense their presences as the three leapt on her, the Wrath, Vette and Felix. Her first thought was force shields for everyone, but Commandent Iven (as she'd learned) proved to be smarter than she gave him credit for. He'd managed to push through her other three allies and target her directly, and as crazy as he was, he was horribly aggressive. No matter how much she force cloaked herself, he'd find her again and swing at her.

The other two guards went down faster, but the others remained distracted as she tried fighting him off from a distance, picking out pieces of the old building that wouldn't crash the whole structure on them and chucking them at him to slow him down. Naji had then been cornered, and he's about to slash at her with his own saber staff. Bracing for the worst, she's surprised at the turn of events as the Wrath slides neatly into place to hold him off at the last moment, blood red sabers igniting his pale face. Naji effectively force shoves him away, and the four of them sustain mild injuries but are able to disarm him to the point they could get the Imperial guards that had rushed in to bring him back to base.

The second reason being the burning on her shoulder that she simply can not get rid of the whole ride back. It's an aching, burning pain that she can't shake no matter how much force healing she pours onto it, not even relieving the aches. It feels like it's broken, but as Felix prods over it, they both agree it's not even out of place. However, watching the Wrath closely during the heated decision of how to interrogate the former Commandent, she's favoring the same arm. The shoulder armor in question is dented past recognition, rips in the underlying fabric in some places leads Naji to believe that the Wrath had ended up in a similar situation.

But how?

Naji intends to ask once they've been dismissed from the table, but a nod from Lana to the woman in question beckons her away. Theron tells her to follow him, and she does so. A little while away, all four stand in a ragged semicircle, Felix telling he'll meet her back on the Polaris when she was done.

"Is there something wrong?" Naji asks, standing up straight and trying to roll her shoulder forward. It takes a moment for the pain subsides, but she's trying her best to keep a straight face, "Something Satele and Marr shouldn't know?"

"Wrong? How about this entire operation is unsettling." Theron responds. Clearly, the word relates to him just a little too much on a personal level right at that moment. Given, it makes sense after the most recent mission. (Tri'ama is also standing as far away from him as she can get, an odd choice out of sight of everyone else.)

"According to Iven, there's a device inside the temple they had hoped to use to bring the Emperor back." Lana fills in. Even she sounds disturbed, and Naji's wondering if her chills are justified now. The Emperor is on Yavin anyways, the Republic's...the Jedi's age old enemy. The atmosphere even is beginning to invade her senses, and it's not a welcome feeling, "It's a weapon designed to eradicate all living things on the moon, save for those safely inside the temple."

"Oh, I should like to see that! Just imagine!" C2-D4 sarcastically says, eyes blinking ominously in the darkness. The droid has one thing going for it, and that's a mind of it's own. How _had_ Jakarro managed to come across such a complex droid?

"D4. Button it." Theron responds, mirroring what she's sure everyone present is thinking themselves. Consequently, the droid doesn't respond.

"The device appears to be Sith in origin. That's how the Emperor knew about it; why he chose to retreat to Yavin IV." Lana continues, ignoring the droid and Theron. Damn these Sith and all their apoctalyptic weapons, hellbent on destroying the galaxy as they all knew it.

"Iven's team was going to activate the device; use the loss of life to restore the Emperor." Tri'ama fills in, her uninjured arm on her hip, "Blazes, does no one see the how the galaxy will be destroyed if we keep letting the Emperor get away with these things?"

"I can assure you, some of us do." Lana says, "But yes, and now Revan plans to use it for the same purpose. If we can't stop him, we're all dead." Her voice quiets, lowering her eyes from the rest of the group. That message sinks in fast, Lana's right (as she's typically proven to be since Naji met her). If it wasn't urgent before, it is now. And Jakarro airs the same sentiment.

"Then let's get moving." Tri'ama nearly growls, readjusting her shoulder, "What's holding us back?"

"Weapons? Other necessary resources? A plan?" Naji questions, an eyebrow raised, and the Wrath's eyes swivel to meet hers in annoyance. Naji holds herself back from asking her if she's right or not -- because she is. Later she realizes that her sarcastic response is partially her own annoyance with the Wrath and her violent tendencies, and partially because the Wrath is having another one of her _moments_ that overloads Naji's senses.

"Iven clued us in on a series of complex locks that will get us access to the temple. They're our next objective." Theron informs them. He seems to dismiss them all for a moment, an intangible objective hanging above them all before he sighs, "Lana, Jakarro. Would you mind, we won't be a more than a minute."

Lana doesn't need a second request, and C2-D4 says something else, Jakarro with an annoyed response. Tri'ama hangs back, arms crossed with a pained expression in her eyes. Theron watches Naji for a moment, Tri'ama just as surprised as she makes to heal her shoulder. It's reciprocated well, the tension flowing out of the Wrath's arm as Naji guides it back into place, "Be careful next time, won't you?"

The Wrath has a sort of confused look in her eyes, before nodding. Naji leaves.

-

 **BONUS: Theron.** ****

"Look, I know we're not exactly on good terms right now." Theron starts. He's nervous, he'll admit that. Tri'ama has been effectively ignoring him since she arrived on Yavin, and her radio silence is eating at him inside out, "And before you say you know, I know that."

_Deep breaths Shan, you're only talking to the Sith Lord who broke you both up before anything got started._

"My line of work, you stare death in the face pretty much all the time. I'm sure you do too." He starts, and she has a look in her eyes that says 'get to the point'. "I'm not in tune with the Force at all, but I don't have to be to feel it: if we can't stop the Revanites, that's over. Everything."

He's genuinely worried for her safety. Yes, she's strong in the Force and to boot, the Emperor's Wrath. But something in her eyes makes him want to take her in his arms and remind her everything is going to be okay.

She considers him for a moment, as if she doesn't understand what he's saying. Tri'ama sighs though, unable to look him in the eyes, "I'm strong enough in the Force for both of us. Revan and his misguided followers don't stand a chance."

"That's what I like to hear. Try not to die, okay? It'd be nice to see you again." He says, falling back into old bantering habits without even realizing it. He immediatly regrets it, and Tri'ama doesn't hide her surprise well, but is quick to turn away from him, black cape flowing behind her without even a response.

Later though, he receives an email late into the night from her reading, _"And in the end, I will seek you out among the stars."_ without anything to follow it up or explain her true intentions. It quickly takes over his thoughts, and he can barely manage to get to sleep that night, still thinking about the woman clothed in black that he'd become infatuated with. Does she still value him? Does she even like him right now?

How had things with Captain Quinn gone?, he finds himself wondering as he turns over.

_Great Shan, you managed to get the attention of a cryptic Sith Lord._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theron's trying to get back on Tri'ama's good side. Tri'ama has effectively confused him.


	11. Someone to Fight For - Yavin IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mierrio and Tri'ama have a conversation. Malavai and Tri'ama have a conversation. Neither ends well.
> 
> Theron contemplates what comes next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually 10.4k words. And I kind of hate myself for it because it's so long. It's very expository (I think) so I added like 3k words of Theron's contemplation on his relationship with Tri'ama. Have fun!
> 
> inspiration: cosmic love, florence + the machine.

**TRI'AMA._YAVIN_IV.**

Another Revanite seizes up before the woman, a grin on the Inquisitor's face, strands of wet hair falling in her face delicately. The shadows cast a menacing look onto her face as thunder claps in the distance, lightning flashing as Tri'ama catches a glimpse of the lightsaber through the soldier's midsection, burning a hole through their uniform. The lavender blade disignites, and Nox hooks the hilt neatly on her combat belt as the person falls to the ground in a heap, eyes rolling into the back of their skull.

"Break?" She asks the two who'd accompanied her on the mission into the ruins. The soft, soothing voice of a mother is out of place on Yavin, and it sends shivers down her spine as Darth Nox acknowledges their presences. Her eyes are anything but warm and inviting, glowing a dark gold. It's as if she's offering them a midday snack instead of a break from the rampant hordes of enemies they've faced all day long. 

She's pleased with herself over the murders of what feels like millions of _people_ amongst the ruins, though Naji's presence has gone strangely quiet during their march through. Not a single Revanite has fallen to the Jedi's doublesaber, the occasional healing thrown out. Usually it tended to drive her up the metaphorical walls, but the Jedi Master hasn't said a word. Any Revanite that attacked her, she refused to kill, only to injure in any way possible. In sight or out of it, Mierrio often finished the job. Tri'ama nearly feels bad for the Barsen'thor, surrounded by so much death. The two of them thrived off it, but the Jedi typically didn't. If anything, she looked a little green around the gills as a splatter of blood soaks into her armor.

Nervously, the Barsen'thor -- _Naji_ , nods and they move to a less populated area of the ruins to presumably rest. Thankfully, it's under a stone overhang, so the three have managed to effectively dry themselves for a duration of time. It seems whenever she ends up with one or the other, she manages to get soaked. Tri'ama chuckles to herself, there must've been a constant here somewhere.

The pale woman is a mystery, and impossible to decipher her true intentions even after all the years they'd known each other in passing.

And again after they'd both ascended to the Council.

And essentially attempted to kill each other. More than once.

Darth Mierrio Revel-Kallig is just like a rancor in waiting and a literal beast on the battlefield as she strikes down adversary after adversary with no remorse for the loss of life, but how prim and proper she ends up being while on Dromound Kaas in the sight of the Dark Council. Proper black formal attire, hair pinned up and away from her face, it's hard to tell which personality she's talking to half the time. Right now though, she's in her element. Torn armor, mussed hair, blood all over her robes, and happily pulls out a kolto patch and perches herself on a broken stone. Even Tri'ama has to admit she's still the epitome of grace post-battle, running a hand through her hair when a barely curved back, one leg crossed over the other. As if she's preparing for a photo-shoot instead of the battle of a lifetime. Rolling up a sleeve, she stretches out her arm and looks up to Tri'ama, "Sit for a bit, _darling_. There's still a lot I don't know about you after all this time that we've known each other. Good a time as any."

Blazes, so this was going to be one of _those_ conversations. Those ' _picking Tri'ama apart just because I can and because hypothetically I'm on the same power level as her_ ' conversation. She hated talking about herself to begin with, and now she was concerned Nox may have known this and is taking advantage of it in front of Naji. The other woman is paying attention rather well though, even if she's attempting to appear as if she isn't, eyes closed and glowing dimly in the shadowed area. Can't figure why that would be good for either of them, but she figures she'll amuse the other woman for a bit.

"There's nothing you need to know, Nox." She answers, taking her own inventory after the last big fight as they slowly make their way out of the cave. Dealing with the puzzle within took time, and it was frustrating enough that she was considering just destroying the thing and finding Revan on her own, but Nox had deciphered it quick enough that she'd only had to defend the two against a few packs of wild beasts. She could cross nature excursion off her vacation list after all of this, and readjusts her hood to cover her hair properly before responding, "Nothing that's on a need to know basis, in your case."

Mierrio muses for a moment, pressing the salve onto her pale skin. While it soaks, she looks up to her with a pointed look in her eye that Tri'ama mistakes for the look of a hunting predator akin to that of the beasts they'd just fought off, "What about that Quinn fellow? Your wedding was wonderful to attend, where is he now?"

Tri'ama hesitates, attempting not to make her position on the matter too clear to the women in her company, hiding behind her respirator as to not make her emotions clear.. She's not sure if Naji knows the current state of her affairs with the man, or even whether Nox is just pressing her buttons or not. Does she know what she's been trying to get up to lately? Aghdani had never been close to her, as far as she knew. The Iridonian wasn't friends with many others on the Council as it was, and had never taken a liking to her either.

It wasn't like the divorce had gone quietly either. Quinn was still frustrated in his own way that she was no longer his wife, though made it clear he disagreed with her ruling. He wore his ring proudly, parading around the Fury as if he still owned the place. Well, in his own quiet rebellion that was. She often could sense him lingering in front of her quarter's door, never staying for long but the feeling of desire strong in his presence.

Desire and longing were the only things the man felt nowadays. It keeps her up at night, and she nearly feels bad for him, denying him his true feelings. At times, she even finds herself missing him next to her at night, the other side of the bed cold when she sleeps and when she wakes. But the ever-present scars on her body she can see in the mirror when she suits up for the day are a quick reminder to why. Why those blue eyes are constantly a lie, why his soft, caressing touches during her treatment will only lead to another cycle of pain.

Aghdani had refused the reassignment of the man after only a day with him just as she had feared, an email sent days later that she wasn't going to put up with this new assistant of hers and that Tri'ama could just kill him if she wanted to rid herself of him that badly. The connotation of the message had come off surprisingly well for just being a message as well, just as angry and spoken with a heavy Imperial accent as if the woman had been there herself.

She wouldn't say that she hadn't considered the thought rather heavily. But as much as she fingered the hilt of her lightsaber late at night at the door of the medbay, she couldn't bring herself to simply rid herself of him in such a manner. He didn't deserve justice like that, and she'd only prove herself no better than those on the Council.

It scared her to have his hands roaming about her body again after all the fights she'd managed to get into. Lana had been rendered unavaliable with her assignments with Marr, and she wasn't about to ask Satele for healing either. Naji was routinely gone with Whyatt on other missions to bring both sides of the coalition closer together, and she'd never trusted Nox with her body before. She didn't intend to start now. Though some injuries had become unbearable, and force healing wasn't something learned in a day either.

Naji may have been healing her at the point, she's not sure. There's a certain softness numbing her mind right then, and it feels like her healing.

"Why do you care, Nox?" Is all she can ask, not even looking her directly in her eyes as she processes how to answer her question, rolling her wrist and waiting for it to crack satisfyingly, "Quinn is Quinn."

Mierrio raises an eyebrow, obviously suspicious, "You didn't bring him on planet, you brought that little Twi'lek girl, the one who always talked too much. I remember you used to drag around the poor man like a pet -- blazes he used to act like one too. Waiting on you hand and foot, never an opinion deviating from your own. Kriff, that always gave me a good laugh. It was as if he was made to please a Sith. Breeded to, if you will."

Tri'ama doesn't laugh with her, though Nox is right in some capacity. Parts of their relationship made it clear one was clearly more powerful than the other. It had always been that way, and neither had ever bothered to ask why. Tri'ama had never tried to rise him to her side rather than beneath her, as most Sith-force blind relationships ended up being. Now, she didn't regret doing so considering what he'd done, how much more information he would've had on her. But she regrets her actions before landing on Yavin, even though she knows they were right.

_"And in the end, I will seek you out among the stars."_

"Quinn?" Naji questions quietly, pulling her own ponytail out and letting her golden curls dust her shoulders. Scarily, Tri'ama had forgotten she was still there amongst all her own scatter-brained thoughts. The Barsen'thor was rather innocent in the matter that she (or as far as they knew) didn't deal in the same sorts of relationships the two Sith did. Was she even married? Or with anyone, for that matter? The Barsen'thor was Jedi, and they had some sort of code against passion of any kind, and marriage seemed like it was in that ballpark. Or love in general. She figured all the people in the Republic were more committal than they were anyways. She wouldn't expect her to understand the struggle.

For some reason, that stings.

She'd been as silent as a mouse for the last few minutes, sitting cross-legged on the ground, and Tri'ama had assumed she was meditating and healing from the past few skirmishes, open wounds now visibly scarring over. Now though, her grey eyes are inquisitive, looking to Tri'ama first, "Is he the soldier who's been with you as of late?"

Mierrio laughs loud at the question before she can answer, nearly out of character for her as she regards the woman with a distasteful smirk that for some reason annoys Tri'ama, "Oh _blazes_ no. Quinn would have a heart attack if he heard you compare him to the Lieutenant. That's Pierce, Quinn is a starchy old fellow who likes to grovel at our _dear_ Darth Amarillis-Quinn's feet and play dutiful plaything."

Tri'ama grits her teeth at the hyphenated last name she'd been able to shed (though without official records being changed accordingly just yet), and Naji looks uneasy at the response, flickering her gaze to Nox, "Right." She's understandably uneasy, the answer was odd and demeaning, brushing her fingers through her tangled blonde hair. She'd been the only one without a hood in their small scouting party, and had gotten drenched, "I wasn't aware you were married, Wrath." She says curiously, the epitome of serene with the backdrop of the jungles as she drops a metaphorical bomb on her.

 _I'm not_ , is on the tip of her tongue, _And I never will be again. Not to him_.

 _Don't say anything about Theron either_ , is in the forefront of her mind as she considers that Naji may know more than she's letting on about her and the SIS agent. For a foolish moment, she wonders if they talk about her when she's not around.

"How odd. I believed you would've brought your dear husband with you, Wrath. What is he doing these days, running odd jobs for you in Sith Intelligence? I always despised that lot, poking their noses where they don't belong." Nox questions before she can even formulate a response. So that was her perogative. Either she knew the truth and was trying to get her to say it, or was genuinely clueless and was hoping to get a rise out of her. Tri'ama couldn't think of a time that the woman ever truly liked Quinn, mostly because of his uptight mannerisms. Given she'd never liked the informal manner of her husband, the pirate. Andronikos Revel had never sat quite right with her, and she often questioned how the man had accepted fatherhood so readily by the way Nox spoke of their relationship. Possibly because of her past, she wasn't attracted to such ruffians in the way Mierrio was. At the very least, Quinn had been an open book in his opinions of her.

All until the end.

"Then I suppose your husband has run off again if he's not here either?" If Nox wanted to be petty, she could be petty right back. It's childish, she knows, but she wants to talk about anything else _other_ than Quinn. Anything other than the man that had forced his way back into her life, even though she'd thrown him out. Anything other than the man that kept her perpetually anxious as soon as she stepped on the Fury every night. Anything other than the man who ruined the one good thing in her life.

Anything other than the man who'd ruined _everything._

She's scored a point, because her face goes ashen, eyes narrowing in offense as Tri'ama continues on her tirade, "Even _if_ Quinn grovelled, I knew where he was at all times -- who he was with. More than you can say."

" _Andronikos_ remains to be more independent than your fool of a husband though. He could stand up on his own two feet." She nearly growls. Tri'ama has struck a chord with her. Mierrio had always been oddly protective of her relationship with the pirate, and it's rather satisfying to feed off her anger. Nox's had been always been different than Aghdani's, or Lana's. Roiling, dark, hot, and strong. Oh, and it was so easy to get her all riled up just in time for a fight. Years after the Revel's spontaneous marriage, she still couldn't figure what was such a sore spot for her, other than that he used to never be around as often.

In a sense, she's almost right. Though there'd been more than a few times that the pirate had gone missing during one of her especially brutal moments, and Tri'ama had accordingly made note of that for use in later arguments. In the recesses of her mind, she wonders why Nox is even out here fighting with the coalition. According to passing gossip, she'd just recently given birth to her second biological child only a few months ago, not to mention that her Sphere still needed her on other planets. It explained her weakness on the battlefield and her more defensive tactics as well, " _My_ children won't grow up with a pushover for a father, unlike your legacy."

"You and I both know I have no intention of raising a family of my own, Nox." Tri'ama laughs darkly at the proposition (it'd be discussed, but never picked up again -- for good reason), rough beneath the effect of the respirator on her voice, "Hypothetically though, I'll never live in fear that any children of mine will grow up with someone who could leave at a moments notice for their own gain. Or someone more concerned with fighting petty battles than the bigger picture."

The scowl on the other woman's face is enough for her to claim victory over the argument. She's successfully _pissed her off_ , for lack of other wording. She nearly formulates another response, but she's concerned there may be another scathing answer afterwards. Mierrio had never been one to give up easily, especially when it concerned her. They had more important things to attend to anyways, and arguments about ex-husbands and fathers wasn't among them.

"Don't think I haven't taken notice of your interest in the Grandmaster's son, either." Her voice oozes with triumph as Tri'ama makes to leave the overhang. Her eyes widen out of sight of the other Sith, effectively stopping her halfway in between their shelter and the rain. Nox scoffs at the gesture. She'd effectively been caught, and Tri'ama's surprised. Nox has never been one for the small details unless they applied to her, "That's right. It's rather obvious there's something going on there, just so you know. I knew Sith took whatever they wanted when they wanted it, but because you were married I was sure you'd be more committal than _this_. Can't wait until the Council hears about it. Oh the _scandal_."

Tri'ama is quick to turn around and find Nox with her hands on her hips, close and with a smirk on her face. Mock surprise dribbles out of her voice, a pale hand coming up to cover her mouth as she laughs wickedly, "You're in love with a Jedi's _son_. Forceblind no less! I thought you'd hit rock bottom with Quinn, but you just keep _sinking._ "

She won't resort to violence, that's what Mierrio wants. Just to piss her off. Revan won't wait around for Mierrio's playground taunts to shut off. Tri'ama takes a breath, closing her eyes and trying to soothe herself back to being unshakable. Naji picks up her doublesaber from where she'd been sitting and squeezes past her back into the rain, thunder rumbling in the distance. It's nearly akin to her own emotions now. The Jedi is apprehensive, her presence giving it away, and has effectively removed herself from the situation entirely at the risk of being attacked while their backs are turned.

One more word out her mouth, and Tri'ama won't hesitate to defend herself. Or Theron. Asking for a Sith to respect a Republic agent with anything less than a strong distaste was asking a lot as it was, but Nox has lit a fire in her. Flashes of their last conversation still haunt her, still frustrating her late at night as the rain lulls her off into a restless sleep. All that's been on her mind has been Theron lately, and Nox's calculating glare isn't helping the matter. Threatening to tell the Council, it has to be one of the most childish things Mierrio has given an ultimatum to, but to her _family_ , it'd be a major blow.

"I always knew you weren't cut out to be Sith. You may have come from a pureblood family...oops I mean _raised_ by a pureblood family, but you hesitate at the worst of times. Mercy isn't a luxury or a necessity, and your ruthless edge has been dulled over the years," Mierrio cackles, pale face close to her own as her eyes narrow, taking her in, "It's truly sad, you were so promising. As much as you wish it, you'll never be one of _us_."

She slaps her.

_Tri'ama has had enough._

The Sith recoils, surprise evident in her amber eyes as fury boils just beneath the surface. Tri'ama tries to keep her face stoic, unmoving. She won't continue being pushed around by the likes of Nox, and this is just one of about sixty million reasons why. Why she's willing to protect Theron against her, she isn't sure right then. But she's not only insulted him, but herself as well. 

Her palm had left a bright red mark on her cheek, and is already bruising her porcelain skin. Her own hand stings through the thin glove, and Nox meets her eyes, nearly ready to respond something fierce before Tri'ama starts herself, "I _am_ Sith. I was _born_ Sith, and I always will be. Just because I don't kick those who are already down like the likes of you and the Council, doesn't change that. Don't forget your own bloodlines before you try to dirty mine, _Revel_. I'm sure mine extend much further than your own."

And for once in their young lives, Mierrio Revel-Kallig is left speechless. Her mouth is moving for a moment before standing up straight and pushing her own way out of their small structure without another word. 

Tri'ama pauses herself for a moment, considering what she's done. When they're no longer fighting Revan, she can't expect any assistance from Nox anymore. She's now nailed that nail into that coffin, and will pay for it down the line. As satisfying as it was to do right then, the consequences may be more than she bargained for. Nox had pull in the Empire, and a power base that could possibly topple her if she wanted to.

She chuckles, watching her hands offhandedly as they check over her own body, saber hilts in her hands and being ignited. Not too many injuries, not enough to warrant a new kolto patch or a request of force healing.

_You weren't going to give up anything for Quinn, now you're willing to give up everything you ever knew for a man who'll leave you as soon as someone prettier than you shows up, or as soon as the war orders him to kill you._

No one speaks for a long while on their trek to the small temple amongst the ruins, and Tri'ama is happy to keep it that way. Surely Naji would have her own questions later, but whatever connection they'd had previously has given away to static. Her presence is well hidden now, wound up well within that mind of hers as they continue fighting through Massassi and Revanites alike. Occasionally there's a warm healing over a certain injury or bruise she takes note of, but she doesn't bother saying anything to her when she does do it in a break of their adversaries. They're sporadic as well, and the gouges and bruises are piling up again, bleeding freely in the tears of her armor. She's halfway to believing Naji has grown scared of her.

Mierrio had similarily cut herself off from the rest of the group, but hood lowered as to wear the bruise proudly. Maybe to make her feel guilty, but she smugly reminds herself she doesn't care. Some do deserve to be hurt, and Nox deserves to be knocked down quite a few pegs.

It wasn't intentionally that she brought her past into the issue, she knew that much. Many liked to acknowledge that she was raised by purebloods but never one herself, not even a speck of it within her DNA. It was a constant reminder that she wasn't really an Amarillis, didn't really belong to a great bloodline even though she had been adopted at the age of only a few months. Tri'ama had never known anything else, but had been distant with her family since then. 

It was a point Mierrio enjoyed to poke fun at, even though her own bloodline couldn't even be traced further than her ancestor, Lord Kallig. The little Tri'ama had become privy to was that she'd been a slave for years until they'd run into each other on Korriban as teenagers. _Also_ , her children had been fathered by an ex-Republic solider, and well known Imperial criminal. To say the least, Tri'ama considers whether the other Sith are right to whispers about the impurity of their family. With how she's been treated since they knew each other, she also wonders if karma will continue being dealt out like this.

For her own sanity, she prays it does.

-

" _We couldn't keep him from coming. Sorry!_ " Is essentially the message Vette has sent her once they reach the staging area again, and Tri'ama isn't immediately able to deal with this all at once. Trying to wrap her head around the idea of two Revans is enough at the moment, but getting all the other coalition missions done at some point before the entire planet went up in smoke? She's so exhausted, so absolutely drained emotionally and physically that she's considering shoving Quinn out an airlock just to get back on track, the way Pierce had suggested he go. Deal with the fallout whenever she came down from her battle high.

_"It's good that you didn't. I told myself I was not altered by my centuries in the Emperor's grasp. But my actions were those of a madman, consumed by rage. I am glad to have left such evil behind." Revan, the real Revan, had paused, maybe taking all three battleworn women in, and his glance had landed on Tri'ama specifically before continuing, "You must do what I could not, Wrath."_

Wrath. That's what she'd been for years, that was her whole identity. She was one of the most powerful Sith in the Empire right now. People respected her as such, gave her credit where credit was due.

The Emperor's...

Or the Empire's, was the question. She'd struggled with the idea for years since the Hand had found her, and even worse she'd learned there'd been one before her that was running around with a _Jedi_ now. There'd been pointed glances toward one another as they went about their tasks on Yavin, but she grew more and more curious about the man as the days passed. He was tall and strong, not unusual for a pureblood, but he had an odd presence she couldn't put her finger on. He was kind enough to Whyatt, and hadn't made any moves to get rid of him as far as she was concerned.

Tri'ama wondered why she was the replacement for him. An up and coming Lord of Sith against a three hundred year old who'd served that time faithfully to the Emperor? She was powerful, but there was no question that he could easily crush her should he will it.

A flash of red catches her eye, and she spins around to focus on it, assuming the worst. Another Sith with red robes, nothing more. They pass by with little more than a glance, and Mierrio continues on while Naji pauses to wait for her. Running a hand through her wet hair, she brushes off Naji's questions and follows after the other woman, nearly frustrated again. There had been too many close calls as of late, and Mierrio's pestering hadn't helped with the issue either. Tri'ama had wanted to cut this off entirely and just be allies again and nothing more. Even if there was a possibility they could continue this affair after Yavin, it'd be frowned upon. They'd be lightyears upon lightyears away from each other, and it was nearly inevitable that she'd fight against him directly one day. To be directly or indirectly responsible for the death of a lover would haunt her until the end of the days. Tri'ama reminds herself this was still the best course of action, regardless of her true emotions for the man. But there was something so horribly _alluring_ about himthat she was sure she was going mad, or it was a trick of the Force again. There was no understanding it, and if she could just focus for two seconds without thinking about it, there wouldn't have been a problem.

Even with Quinn, he wasn't nearly as distracting. Her thoughts of him weren't as intrusive as her musing of the agent. Half the time _he'd_ been distracted by _her_ anyways _._ Turning the tables on her so quickly was so absolutely frustrating because she hadn't expected it. And Tri'ama hated surprises.

Her mind is elsewhere as Naji debriefs Satele and Marr on their mission to the ruins, and Whyatt turns out to be successful in his own small missions for some of the more prominent members of the temporary alliance. The scrawny Iridonian Zabrak man was, surprisingly enough, good for something she found, and was adept with duel wielding. He'd single-handedly fought off hordes of Massassi according to reports, and came back to tell the tale with only a gash over his nose. Well, there were more forest green bruises Naji later fussed over after the meeting was dismissed, but that was all that Tri'ama had noticed at the time.

It takes a bit for her to collect her thoughts and prep with the others for the next, and hopefully, last mission into Revan's hideout. There are battle plans, their flight in. It's going to be haunting her all night, and Yavin doesn't exactly have cantinas where she can numb away the thoughts until morning. The fight against Revan is going to be one where their willpower is going to be tested beyond belief. It had been a long while since she'd been in such a high stakes mission, where it was either kill or be killed. Flashes of her memories aboard Malgus' stealth ship, her short time on Makeb before Aghdani and Nox took over the mission, fighting the cyborg in the sinking ship on Manaan. More recently, the fuzzy memories she has of the mission to the station jammer. All moments that she was convinced would be the end.

This...this might actually be the end. Might be something she won't be able to walk away from.

Tri'ama would be lying if she said she wasn't worried. Yes, the Grandmaster of the Jedi herself is assisting in the operation. Two Dark Council members would be fighting alongside her. A Sith of immeasurable power, the Barsen'thor of the Jedi Order and the Defender of Tython, along with her own power.

And Theron.

Yet again, she'd be caught in a lie, should she admit she wasn't fearful for his safety. Not that he couldn't defend himself, she'd seen him fight on more than one occasion, and win. But his last words to her are beginning to ring around in her head. Blazes if she doesn't regret not responding to him and his well-meaning concern, to at. Even the false hope, the false spark that would've been lit for him if she'd stayed, if she'd taken him then and there, would've been better than this strained allyship. Comforted him that she would be okay, promised him that she'd come back to him.

The thought slips through her fingers again.

 _She doesn't love him,_ that's what comforts her at night. Admitting that aside from a regretful conversation and mutual admiration, there isn't anything keeping them together. That's the way it should be, anyways. Tri'ama should be able to go about her life like any other Sith. No lingering attachments with someone forbidden to her. Stars forbid she begin thinking she wants to belong to him in such a manner. After this, yes after this, she'll return to the Empire. Maybe someone else will catch her eye, maybe she'll remain alone for the rest of her reign as the Wrath.

All that matters is getting off Yavin with all her limbs intact. And preferably, everyone elses'.

Still, she ponders whether she should speak to him. Before all of this, at least. An ancient evil that could probably snap her neck if he wanted to, flick the light out of Theron's charming hazel eyes right before her was going to face them only twelve hours from now. Either way, it could be the worst way for either of them to go, falling to Revan in such a violent manner.

The tanned ring line taunts her as she moves to slip her gloves back on from where they'd sat on the table previously, having to type rapidly on her datapad earlier with their findings from the excursion in the ruins, and the gloves had interfered with the response time. Theron is not her's, and she is not his. _I don't love him_ , is her first thought. She'd told herself she loved Quinn, and had burned a fire of desire for him for years. In the end, she ended up charred, with scars to prove her naivity.

Before she can even stop the thought, her legs are already moving towards the staging area, where she'd seen Jakarro's ship touchdown weeks ago, and where Theron had left to only ten minutes prior. It's now or never -- and she is hoping it's now. Or, this will haunt her for the rest of her natural and unnatural born life.

 _You're making a mistake,_ she thinks, _It isn't worth your time anyways. No SIS agent wants anything more than a fling with a Sith anyways._

_**You aren't worth it.** _

_Shut it._

Red. Red, red. She's searching either side of the courtyard for the jacket, hands in a perpetual fist on either side of her lithe body. People part for her, maybe knowing she's a woman on a mission. Jedi and Sith alike, she's searching for his presence among the dwindling throngs of people as they head off to barracks or shuttles to get rest for the upcoming battle. Nothing stands out to her, and with how many force sensitives are here, she's sure they can sense her desire just as much as the blood pounds in her ears. It'd be embarassing to explain to anyone what she's looking for, and she refuses to do so no matter who comes up to her to ask. Stars forbid Naji had found her after the _discussion_ they'd had earlier with Nox. The woman would know immediately. Even worse if Nox herself sensed it.

She's nearly ready to give up half an hour later, ready to accept she's missed her chance, and hard. It's growing darker, and though the storm had let up sometime ago, it's threatening to return. It's hard not to make it evident she's disappointed. There's barely anyone left, and knowing her crew, someone would come looking for her if she didn't come back soon.

Even the droids who regulated speeder travel over the infinite jungle had been powered down and stored somewhere out of the rain once she reaches the outcropping. It feels like it's been forever since she's been alone with her emotions like this, and it's stifling. Now she knows why she keeps other people around for so long, she physically can not be trusted not to do something rash. She drags a hand down her face, a grimace over her lips as her fingers itch for something to crush. Why is she so damned frustrated? _Hell_ why _is_ this bothering her so much?

Why can't she just be every stereotypical Sith that had ever been born into this hellhole of a galaxy, and not care about how anyone else fares over her own health? Tri'ama hates that she wants him, wants his arms wrapped around her again, wants those burning kisses all over her. Hates that she does want to spend just a little more time with him. Hates that her honest emotions are being spiked by her need to _belong,_ belong to something, belong to _someone_. Quinn had essentially quenched that thirst for the longest time, but had left her waiting for someone to fill the void _._ Sith didn't need to belong, they didn't need to love. They needed passion to thrive, and for some reason the galaxy had given her passion as their code required -- in the worst way possible. In the form of someone she couldn't have, in the form of someone she _shouldn't_ have.

But she wants him. She wants Theron Shan more than she knows.

And she hates herself for it. She wasn't going to cry over him, she wasn't going to be making this a spectacle. Her thoughts unwillingly linger to Pierce. she'd admitted she was over Ashley for months now, and here she was, wanting anyone to take her no matter what consequences waited for it. It wasn't right to keep leading him on like that, but all she wants is to fall back into old routines, old comforts to heal her.

"My lord?" A quiet voice questions, startling her out of her thoughts as the sound of boots against stone fills the air. A sinking feeling of dread fills her as she processes the accent that pronounced her name and title for years beforehand, growing ever closer, "The crew was beginning to fret over your extended absence."

"I'm assuming that means you were _fretting_?" She asks a little too coldly, but as he comes into view he doesn't even seem a tad offended by her tone, "Pierce, Jaesa and Vette know I'm fine and wouldn't have sent you after me."

"I will admit, it has been a long while since I was in your service, I will not attempt to understand the reasoning behind the change in protocol, but I will accept it if that is what you wish." For a moment, he's quiet and Tri'ama really begins to take him in properly. A few gray hairs have appeared since he was gone, a salt and pepper look beginning to take hold on him. A younger her would've appreciated it, had he not betrayed her she would be proud to call him her husband.

_"I do not feel conflicted in the least. Not about anything. Including you." It had been shortly after they'd disposed of Moff Broysc, something she doesn't regret to this day, but it had been a welcome surprise about this. She had originally meant to return to her own quarters after the mission debrief, go over what she knew about the Hand, but raises an eyebrow at the admission, curious of his nature. He pauses, waiting for her to allow him to continue, "I've held back long enough. Been too rigid, too inflexible. I won't suppress my feelings and desire any longer."_

_"You were a tad slow out the gate, Quinn. Pursue me if you must." She'd played hard to get, even though she'd flirted with him only the day prior, "Someone else may have caught my eye while you waited around."_

_"I know you're only testing me." He answers, such a strong challenge to her. A welcome challenge, of course. Showing even a little backbone was good, but this was the first time he'd done anything, or not taken her words at face value._

_"Oh really? But how can you be sure?" She'd asked, both hands on either hip. Flirting and making fun of Quinn had been a pasttime at the time, and she wondered what his response would be this time, "What if there really is some Pureblood out there thinking of me in your stead?"_

_"I'm sure if he is out there, he was slower out the gate than I was to realize what kind of woman you are. Come to my quarters, and I'll show you." Tri'ama had to try not to widen her eyes at the offer, aware of how important that had been to him, to take control and not follow her lead first._

_Tri'ama didn't often like surprises. In fact, she despised being out of the loop about anything. But this one, she had liked the challenge that he'd alluded to, "Lead the way then, Captain."_

_He had made no move to leave at that point, maybe musing over his next actions, but instead he'd thrown an arm around her waist and kissed her hard. It had been her very first kiss, and looking back on it, she regrets that it was with him. At the time, she found it hot, and had allowed him to drag her off into pleasurable night in her quarters (she had decided against screwing him in the crew quarters)._

_Once she'd returned to the cockpit in the morning, pleased but finding the other side of the bed empty (a tad disappointed he hadn't stayed the night, but she shivers at the thought now) he'd been there, a smirk on his face and a now-forgotten datapad in hand, "I'm glad we got that settled. I'll return to my post. I hope to see you off-duty again soon."_

_Tri'ama had very quickly returned the favor, yanking him forward by the leather of his uniform to kiss him hard, datapad clattering to the floor. While surprised, he'd allowed her to, and when they broke apart she had a wider smile on her own face, "There's no doubt you will, Quinn."_

But all she has now for his is distaste, and a lack of trust to go with it. The memories had been so wonderful at the time, things she fell back on when she needed an extra boost during battle to remind herself what she fought for.

She can't tell, but she's sure he's armed somewhere. Even with the lack of blaster present, and that sends a shiver down her spine. With no one else in the immediate vincinity, she's eerily reminded of the night aboard the transponder station.

She's reminded all too easily of walking it with her hand in his, and returning to the Fury with her's nearly cut off had she been anymore ignorant of his intentions. Steeling her gaze on the temple in the distance, she asks, "Why are you here, Quinn?"

"I am fully aware you're able to make your own decisions, and would never question your judgement, my lord. But you put me on leave for years, and as soon as I return, you attempt to change my servitude to another. I'm afraid she didn't want me there," He begins, still looking out over the canopy of trees before turning his gaze to her, "You've attempted to rid yourself of me, my lord. So I ask, if you really did not want me around any longer, why didn't you just kill me as Darth Aghdani had made so evident she would do if you did not?"

"I have no interest in acting rash over issues in the past." Tri'ama answers, averting her gaze from his as she takes a shaky breath, "Your death would serve me no immediate or long term purpose, and until Jaesa learns to force heal, you still serve a purpose aboard the ship, even if my own emotions do not align with wanting you here. You betrayed me Quinn, and instead of staying away as I'd requested, you returned against my wishes. I'm sure your astute observations lead you to the conclusion I wouldn't be pleased."

He pauses for a beat, maybe truly considering her words before relaxing out of his perpetual parade rest and turning fully to her, "My lord. I ask you to reconsider the reassignment -- and the divorce. You were frustrated and acted rather quickly, and I barely had any concern in the matter. You pretended as if your love for me disappated in only a few months. You may not enjoy the thought, but I still care for you, my love. You have never left my thoughts."

_I still care for you._

_**My love.** _

If she wasn't already haunted by the uniform, by having to sit down with him at the opposite end of the table when briefing the crew on missions, if it wasn't bad enough to have him here now telling her all these things years upon years too late. Things she would never accept, things that she would've loved to hear if it were from anyone but Captain Malavai Quinn, she will struggle to recover now. Moving on had felt like such a great idea hours prior to this, but she's terrified now. He's going to be around until she can find another unlucky, lower placed Sith Lord to take him away from her.

Her chest feels like it's tightening around her, as if her heart will begin pounding out her chest if she doesn't get out of here now. She tries to regulate her breathing, but he grows closer to her and it's suffocating. And this time, there's no Pierce to request for something, no Vette to pull her away for other, fake responsibilities. There's no one here to save her from her nightmare, and she's not sure she can continue putting on a brave face in front of him.

She wishes she weren't here right now. Tri'ama wishes she could be anywhere else but here, with only a few inches separating them. She wishes her ex-husband weren't here, trying to win her back after everything he'd done. She wonders if he even thinks about the fact that he deserves the consequences she'd given him, thinks about what they mean.

Tri'ama may have all the armor she can have on right now, but she feels so exposed to him, as if he still knows all. As if he's still the one with all the answers, as if they've gone back to the day after the day she'd confessed she no longer wanted to be called Quinn, to be considered his. No longer wanted to be his wife.

The days she'd lapsed in her judgement.

_"My lord. I regret that our paths must diverge. Out of respect, I wanted to be here to witness your fate." He'd said, not facing her in a large room on the transponder station. She'd been mildly suspicious at the time, confused what he meant. Not completely convinced about what was going on._

_"Have you found someone else? If you say it's not me, it's you, I won't be responsible for my actions." She'd answered sarcastically, rolling her eyes as a dark chuckle following the response. Oh, how unprepared she'd been for what came next._

_"It's not me or you. It's Darth Baras. I owe him more than you could imagine. It pains me, but this entire scenario is a ruse. There's no martial law, and there's no special signal emitter." She'd still been unbelieving, raising an eyebrow and ready for this all to be a joke to get her away from everyone. It's their anniversary, after all. He'd been too serious though, and she'd had a well-placed sinking feeling about this, "Baras is my true master. He had me lure you here to have you killed."_

_"I thought our relationship was real. I thought we cared about each other, Malavai." Her left hand had grown closer to her saber as it had set in. This wasn't some elaborate plan dreamt up by a man in love, this was a ruse. This was a murder by a skilled killer._

_"I didn't want to choose between the two of you. But he's forced my hand, and I must side with him. Once you're gone, your crew will either join me with Baras, or be killed." The Imperial accent isn't so comforting anymore, and she draws the hilt of one saber. She had prayed she didn't have to draw it on him, but she's not so sure anymore._

_"Baras will run the Empire into the ground, Malavai." She'd foolishly believed if she kept using his name, kept being familiar with him, that she'd win out and he'd see the right in his wrong._

_"Baras has always been one step ahead of every enemy. He'll lead us to victory." He had finally turned to look at her, a regretful look on his face though his voice remained emotionless, "After all this time of observing you in battle, I have exhaustively noted your strengths and weaknesses." Two battle droids appear behind him, blast doors opening with a loud thump. She must've looked so horribly hurt, that he averts his gaze again, "These war droids have been programmed specifically to combat you. I calculate a near zero percent chance of their failure."_

_"I--" She pauses, watching as the war droids walk up behind him. Drawing both blades and igniting the rose read sabers, she had set her lips into a thin line, wishing the tears back, "I know how thorough you are, Malavai. I'm sure this will be greatest test."_

_"And if I'm right, your last. I'm sorry it came to this, my lord."_

_The absence of my love, had only confirmed that it really had been the end of her relationship with Quinn. Not the wedding they had shortly after, but the transponder station had been the end. Killing Baras, had done nothing to sate her broken heart._

"Quinn," His gaze doesn't waver from hers, in fact nearly reaching for her hand as she turns to face him fully. Her hands are shaking, and she pulls them away just as a finger dusts his palm, "I am _not_ yours. I will _never_ be your love again. You attempted to kill me, and then hid behind Baras as your excuse for not coming to me with the issue first. I do not trust you, and in this future or any other, I will never trust you again. Whether it has been two years or twenty, your petty begging will not change how I feel about you. You are the Captain, _I_ am the Wrath. I have the final say on my relationship with you, and I say that you have been reassigned. I am not your wife, and I never will be again. Be lucky I have not ended your life prior to this for every transgression you've had since you've returned to my service."

For the second time that day, she's rendered someone speechless, and for the second time today, it's welcome. The surprise is evident in his blazing blue eyes, and then regret, disappointment, "Return to the Fury and prepare the ship to leave after tomorrow. Tell Pierce and Vette that Protocol Alpha is active, understood?"

It takes a moment for him to visibly collect his thoughts, and another for him to decide not to say anything more and face her wrath, "Understood, my lord."

And with that, he's gone.

She spends a few hours waiting there on the outcropping. Channeling her hatred, but halfway in between that and meditating. Tri'ama is far from relaxing, far from feeling as if a weight has been taken off her shoulders. The rain is battering down on her for ages, but she's kept warm by the hatred she has for the galaxy at the moment. Nothing registers in her immediate vincinty for a long time, nothing exists but her.

Something is relaxing her through her force signature. It's numbing the frustration, the anger, the desire, the longing, the sadness as she comes down from her fury. It's a tad frightening, she's not sure why it's there. It isn't her own guilt either, but its soft and calming. As if someone is comforting her through it all, but there isn't any other presence she can sense here in the staging area.

She's drenched when she returns to the Fury, but Tri'ama is at a crossroads, and for once in her life, she's more unsure of where she's going next than ever. No master, only an absentee landlord. No lover, only a man who can't give up and another that she doesn't _want_ to give up.

The end all, be all of their existence begins tomorrow. If Revan succeeds, her life is over as she knows it. The entire galaxy, is over as she knows it.

Looking at herself in the mirror through the haze of exhaustion, she asks herself what kind of Wrath she was. Did she fight for the Emperor, who intended to devour an entire planet once he returned to full strength? Or did she fight for the people of the Empire, and now, the galaxy?

Her golden eyes, accentuated with the deep purple of corruption fade away into grey as she realizes the answer isn't so far out of reach.

_Who did she fight for?_

-

**THERON._YAVIN_IV.**

He's not sure what he's accidentally witnessed when he makes to return to his shuttle for the night. After running a few odd errands for his mother (mostly assisting Master Grace and Iresso with the debriefing of a few missions; with how delicate they were to the Republic, he was glad Nox and Tri'ama hadn't bothered helping), he's almost ready to turn in for the night with a datapad in hand. But, as the thunder rumbles in the distance, the black clad Sith lord is nearly glowing in the early evening moonlight. A storm is coming, nearly an analogy for what they're facing the day after.

He considers for a moment, and finding they're relatively alone, crosses the distance to meet her. There's a lot that's gone unsaid in the last few days, and they haven't exchanged a word, not even a look since she left him after he'd expressed his concern for her, and he's afraid he's really messed up now. Well, it was a given, he'd missed his opportunity by straying away from her, but he felt that his life probably would've been in danger if he'd bothered her with the issue any longer. Other than the odd quote she'd sent him (that had most definitely not kept him up at night, wondering if the Wrath was actually a master at a crypting messages), he's not sure what she truly thinks of him. Of course, she hasn't been hostile towards his faction, which is all he can ask for.

Before he can move any closer, (there's still quite a ways separating them) a well-dressed Imperial man cuts to her. Clearly he'd been coming from where the last shuttle had touched down, or he thought so. He'd been working so long the time had passed faster than he'd expected, and the other man made a beeline for the Sith. Theron almost has half a mind to move to stop him, or hurry his own pace to catch up to the two, but the rational part of his mind tells him to hold back. So he does, waiting and leaning against a ruin. He wouldn't be able to hear much (the Holonet connection was kriffing horrible on Yavin outside of where they'd set up further in the base; there were no other things he could connect his implants to, especially to listen any closer either), but just watching her body language as she realizes the man is there is enough to make him realize something is amiss. She tenses visibly, and keeps herself from making eye contact with him.

Taking a closer look at him, it isn't immediately evident that he's run into Malavai Quinn. It takes him a moment, but when he does recognize him for his profile, Theron knows that this wouldn't be a pleasant conversation for either party involved. Tri'ama had seemed stressed enough earlier in the day when she'd debriefed with Master Iresso and Darth Nox about their run-in with the spirit of Revan, and adding the man to mix doesn't sound like the brightest thought anyone could've had at that very moment. He wouldn't pretend he even began to understand the pent-up frustration and regrets the woman had for her ex-husband, but for some odd reason or the other, he can't bring himself to move to help.

The conversation is short, or he assumes it is for as long as he stands there. It didn't seem to be going well, and he doesn't creep any closer to figure out the true connotation of the exchange either. With Tri'ama wearing her respirator, hood up and that Imperials seemed to struggle with any other emotion than blatant straight faced disapproval, he's not sure that by the time Malavai leaves if one of them won out over the other. For a moment, he panics Tri'ama may have known he was there (Iresso -- the Jedi, not the well-meaning soldier, had mentioned that his presence was frazzled all the time and rather easy to pick out) as she sweeps her eyes over the staging area. But, instead of seeking him out, she kneels down on the speeder pad as rain begins to fall. He moves under an outcropping to keep the storm from doing its worst to him, and for the longest time she doesn't make to leave, changing from kneeling to sitting with her legs crossed. He wasn't sure whether Sith meditated. And figured if he asked, Nox would laugh and Tri'ama would figure he had been watching her and drift away further than she had been before.

By the time another fifteen minutes passes, she's so out of it he's able to leave without a stir from the woman. Theron's sure she knows he's there and just not acknowledging him, but makes it back to his shuttle. He runs the necessary checks, no Imperial tampering, no one has broken in while he was gone. Goes over what he's learned in the day past, finishing off notes, laying out battle plans to study when he got up in the morning. Taking apart his blasters, cleaning out the necessary components, replacing those that needed to be replaced. Putting them back together, recalibrating his implants into lower power mode, it's all routine now. Still going over reports from soldiers and sensors out in the jungle. He was sure Satele -- his mother could've assigned someone else to do this job, but she assigned him the task. The praise that was heavily overlain with professional courtesy was still welcome though.

Running a hand through his hair, he lets his mind wander to her for a moment. In the view of others, she's not exactly maternal. Whyatt is years younger than he is, but she praises him for his work, and there's clearly a connection there that Theron himself yearns for. After learning the Zabrak's story, Theron feels a little guilty for that. A boy -- a literal boy, only twenty two. Barely nine at the time of the destruction, he'd watched as Theron had watched the Temple on Coruscant burn during the Sacking of Coruscant. He'd been a pupil of Satele's after his old Master had fallen in battle, and while he'd been taken under Master Atiya when he became a padawan at seventeen, he still had a closer relationship with her than he likely would ever had with his own mother. Yes, he felt horrible about being bitter about it. Whyatt, like most Jedi, never knew his parents during the war, but according to records, they'd both died during the Imperial occupation. Satele was closest thing he had to a mother figure, and he figured Atiya had filled the role as a father as well. He'd been spiraling at the loss of his Master, which was clear in his facial expressions whenever he was mentioned.

_Still._

There's one more thing he ends up doing before going off to bed. Lana (against her wishes, probably. The Sith was horrible with communications these days, but he's still bitter for what she did on Rishi. Childish or not, he still thinks she deserves his thawing cold shoulder) has mailed him a status report of his forces and Jedi on-planet, and he marks it for reading later. But he goes back to the message Tri'ama had sent him. He's seen it plenty of times, trying to decrypt it, see if every letter of every word created a sentence. Evidently, it didn't.

He didn't intend to die with regrets. And right now, the Wrath was one of them. He wasn't particularily attached to her, she was kinder than most and fought for the good of the Empire, but something kept dragging him back to pale, blonde Sith. Unlike how most would argue, it wasn't her body. It was her intellect, her strategic mind. Her battle worn courage, and her startling need to protect those of the Empire. Her soldiers weren't canon fodder, not like how many others would let them be.

He admires her for being a real person rather than a monster who happened to be breathtaking to lay eyes upon.

Hell, that was sappy, even for him.

He'd never bothered responding to her previous message, and curiousity gets the best of him because he responds late that night. Whether she'll respond or not is the real question, but he'll play that game. It's something that Doxie had once said to him, and as he drifts off into a dreamless sleep, he wonders if it's considered regifting. Cheesy, maybe. But inspirational nonetheless. Thought provoking, maybe.

_"Some nights I wish to go back in life. Not to change anything subtle, just to feel a couple things twice."_

In the early parts of the morning as he goes about his routine again, checking and rechecking his blasters, calibrating and recalibrating his implants. Considering eating something out of the MREs, drinking a cup of caf instead, he gets another surprise that he hadn't expected. Looking at the healing bruises in the reflection of the dark screen, he isn't immediately sure how to react to the message he's received.

_"There is my heart, and then there is you. I'm afraid there may not be a difference - T.A"_

He didn't know Sith ever signed their names. For the longest time before Lana, he wasn't sure that they even _had_ names -- or were willing to share them with others.

It's nice to know that Tri'ama trusted him with her's, facing possible death.

Looking out in the viewport over the still storming jungle, he considered every single way this could end. Certain death were the words of the day apparently, but he would've liked to return to the Republic. There weren't a whole lot of people that would be devastated over his death, his mother maybe and his father if he was really grabbing at straws. Lana might be upset for a while, but Tri'ama may fight for a long time after he's gone. Or forget about him, that was a possibility, and probably the actual outcome. 

With a somewhat renewed sense for survival against this ancient ancestor (something would always circle back to his heritage -- his mother, his father and apparently a very old grandfather with beef against both factions), he makes his way back to the staging area, her words still bouncing around in his head.

He'd fight for something alright. Yes, he'd fight for the Republic, everything he'd ever known and everything he hoped to return to. But there was something new alongside that.

He'd fight for _her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You didn't have fun, did you?
> 
> -
> 
> And in the dark, I can hear your heartbeat  
> I tried to find the sound  
> But then it stopped, and I was in the darkness,  
> So darkness I became  
> The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out  
> You left me in the dark  
> No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight  
> In the shadow of your heart


	12. End Times - Yavin IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tri'ama comes to terms with her upbringing. Revan meets a few foes he can't kill. The Emperor rises. Theron and Tri'ama part ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh god this took a whole weekend to write. and it’s reigning champ of the chapters at 12.3k words, the most i’ve EVER written, especially since most of this chapter isn’t a dialogue dump. have fun my friends, for this is the finale of the shadow arc. and probably the last chapter that’ll work on tri’ama, theron, and naji for a while, because there are more characters arriving once we hit ziost!

**TRI'AMA._DROMOUND_KAAS**

_"Get up!" The feminine voice yells loudly as she hits the roughly ground again, and something comes loose out of her mouth and she coughs hard as it scrapes the back of her throat._

_Tri'ama is really beginning to hate dueling with her siblings._

_Hell, she's beginning to hate fighting in general._

_Wasn't like she ever had a chance._

_She just barely picks herself up off the durasteel ground, blood pooling out of her mouth and spitting out a tooth as pain comparable to fire races up her arm. It's a back one, she can tell from it's shape as it falls from her mouth, coated in the iron red substance, so she's not overly concerned about her appearance to anyone after she leaves the training room. Still, it stings as she runs a tongue over it and her attention darts to the overlook, where Raegia, Scorvs and Kadasha stand. Her younger sister looks visibly terrified with a finger nervously twirling a strand of dark hair around it, while Scorvs looks indifferent with his arms crossed behind the two women. Raegia, or Rage-ia as she likes to deem her, is blazing with her fury written all over her face._

_The pureblood matriarch is frustrated with her, Tri'ama can feel it through the Force. This always happened whenever she couldn't match the skillset that Typarnk had, and she often retaliated in a way that humiliated her._

_Tri'ama wondered if she ever registered that she was her adopted daughter, not a trained arena brawler that could simply do whatever she wanted to whenever she ordered it. She was a child no less. Sith or not, Tri'ama wasn't meant for **this.**_

_"Typarnk isn't even pushing you hard, Tri'ama. There's a warrior buried in you, and I did not bring you here for you to continue to fail!" Lightning jumps from the woman's fingertips in the midst of her annoyance, and the two children closest to her back away her routinely, "Typarnk, push the attack. Give Tri'ama a challenge, maybe she'll push back when faced with the reality of real injury."_

_She wants to scream, she wants to yell. What she wants to do is force choke Raegia (she was entirely capable of force choking at this age, but it was difficult to regulate and took a lot out of her), maybe even run out of the training arena entirely. Tri'ama wants to be everywhere but here, a nine year old girl pitted against her thirteen year old brother. Curiously, she wonders what every other nine year old girl is up to today, something normal perhaps. With friends, with family, maybe down in the forum. Blazes, anything else than being beaten down over and over again by someone older, wiser and stronger than them. No one elses' guardians had to be like this, it had to just be the Amarillis' that took her in, instead of someone sane. Tri'ama throws a pleading glance to her brother, and his vermillion red eyes soften at her broken form, "Mother, she's clearly had enough. She's been hit hard, I don't know what lesson you're trying to get across but people are going to assume you're abusing her -- or worse that you've taken a child for a slave."_

_Ouch, that one stung a bit. Yes, she was human, compared to the pureblooded Amarillis family, but having slaves wasn't above the Amarillis legacy in the slightest. She already suffered enough at the hands of other children when she was allowed off the estate property and the bruises were not assisting her reputation in the slightest, "She's nine, not nineteen. Pale skin doesn't hide bruises well either., as I'm sure you're beginning to realize."_

_Tri'ama tries not to smile. At least he's standing up for her at all, he could throw her into a wall and be praised for it, but instead he tries to protect her at the risk of rebuttal from their guardian._

_"Are you talking back to me, Typarnk Amarillis?" She hisses loudly, and Typarnk lowers his gaze from the balcony at the scolding, Tri'ama by extension of the yelling, "Do tell, did you become all powerful because I thought you didn't need to be trained at her age because the galaxy is all hunky-dory? Coruscant has just been sacked, and as pitiful as the Republic is, they will retaliate. I will not watch my legacy fall to a bunch of force-wielding toddlers!" She rubs her temples as Kadasha shrinks back into her brother's strong form in mild fear, and turns her attention back to the field, "Typarnk, I asked you specifically to assist me in training her. I did not say be merciful, I said prepare her for war. **Am I clear**?"_

_"Yes, mother." A grimace crosses his face as he considers his blade, lower his head as his black hair falls in his face in defeat. He's nothing more than a teenager, a young one at that. He can't stop what was already coming. Tri'ama strains to resummon her own thrown blade to her hands with the Force, and takes up a defensive stance in Shii-cho. She doesn't want to continue to fight Typarnk/ Raegia and Yusaits had been less than loving to all four of them (she can name a few times she was convinced her family hated her), but her older brother had always tried to protect her from the worst of it. Not to say she'd even be able to wound him with her current set of abilities, but if a show is what Raegia wants, Tri'ama can't continue to deliver without something giving. There just isn't enough that she knows, and not enough power to harness properly. Raegia has made it clear that just because she is human doesn't mean she will be treated any differently than the rest of the brood, and while at one point she was grateful for this acceptance in her adoptive family, she's beginning to resist what the woman is doing. At first, all she'd wanted was to belong. But now, she wishes whoever her real parents were had taken her with them instead of giving her to literal psychopaths._

_Every other nine year old isn't worried about what kind of abuse would come next from their guardians -- their parents, that would be doled out by a sibling ten times stronger than you._

_The hum of Typarnk's golden training blade becomes louder and louder as he makes to swing at her. Due to her continued losses against her stronger brothers, her fighting style has become uniquely defensive against them. Parry here, a block there, a barely resisted force push there. Tri'ama is notorious among the Amarillis family to be a slippery one to catch (that admittedly was rather easy to disable if someone gained on her strategy and took her out that way), and she prizes herself on that. Typarnk clearly isn't looking to actually inflict any of thedamage as Raegia requests, so she tries to regain her breath as she bolts around the training arena. No fancy saber throws, no unsolicited force choking, nothing that could seriously wound her. It was part of an agreement between brother and sister, and so far it had yet to be broken. The tooth was only the fifth transgression of hundreds of battles. She can trust him._

_He's one of the few people on this blasted planet that she can even begin to trust. This was all she'd ever known, yes, but that didn't mean she had to like it. It meant she had to roll over and take it, but it didn't mean she had be completely complacent about it._

_It isn't until she's on her knees again, this time with a nasty headache pounding behind her eyes that is making her see double does she begin to consider she's not cut out to be Sith. Korriban is used to weed out the weak among the prospects, and she's half afraid that she won't last a week on the red dustball when Raegia eventually sent her there for her trials. Typarnk is very clearly apologetic for the brute force he'd used after clocking her good on the back of her skull with the butt of his saber hilt, and deactivates the training sabers electricity to bend down and tip her head up to inspect for lasting and immediate injuries, "Nasty bruise you've got there, right on your nose. Your nose may be broken, but I'm sure mother would like to put 'Dasha's meager skills to use here." Tri'ama winces at the thought as he presses the pad of his thumb on her cheek, wiping away a tear that is surely biting through the dirt, blood and grime on her face, "You can do this, I know you can. Don't let her get to you, a couple years from now you'll be the only one of us to disown yourself from the family and not be scorned for it."_

_She wants to hug him, hell she wants to run away with him as far as she can. Kadasha was too young to understand the pain she went through, having an affinity for lightning like their father and working with him at the Sanctum most of the time, and Scorvs was much too apathetic to truly even care about what Tri'ama is going through. She wasn't sure there was anything her other older brother knew about, other than his own research into the Sith military forces. Kadasha had yet to endure what she had, but she has her own concerns about the little girl and her training. The six year old would suffer one day as she was, and Tri'ama didn't want to see her cry._

_Why her guardians couldn't they find two seconds out of their day to maybe consider that their adopted daughter would respond better to less violent measures of training, years later the answer still alluded her. Praise from Baras was what propelled her to do better and better on her given assignments, Sith thrived on passion. This was simply stifling._

_They simply didn't care, often was one she pondered on for ages at a time. Sith did as they pleased, no matter how others reacted._

_"Mother stop!" Kadasha is screaming in a tiny voice, and turning her head painfully from Typarnk's face to the doors on the other side of the arena, she can see the two of the little girl racing after her mother's long stride as her vision only blurs further. Raegia isn't happy, and Tri'ama is nearly shrinking into herself as she realizes why she's down here. Raegia rarely came down onto the training field herself unless she had an ulterior motive and, or, had something intended for the fighters on the field, "Mother!"_

_Typarnk stands protectively in front of her, wanting to say something to his mother, maybe even to fight back against her punishment, but is quickly shoved away by a force blast before he can do anything. He skids to the ground with a groan, a mop of black hair covering his eyes as she quickly swivels her head back to face Raegia. Her callused hand slaps her cheek hard, Tri'ama not even expecting it initially, and on accident, maybe even on purpose her long, sharp nails dig into her skin. She can already feel the blood dribbling down and out of the large cut, and bites down on her bottom lip to keep from crying, the metallic liquid seeping into her mouth, "I don't think I have to even try to explain why you deserved that, whelp."_

_The high accent is disturbingly annoying to hear now, reminding Tri'ama that Raegia is high and mighty, and will always be that way, "Yes, Raegia." She whispers, sweat still dripping down her forehead in rivers._

_"You are Sith, and you carry the Amarillis name. You may not be my child by birth, but you are by my choosing. Becoming Sith is not an attainable status for those that refuse to work for it, and you will not continue to disappoint me or you will die in your near future from your own mistakes, Tri'ama. Is that understood?" Raegia questions, tipping her head up to look at her directly. She groans inaudibly, and nods. These may very well be the kindest words she's said to her to date, actually recognizing her as an Amarillis, and the woman releases her less than gentle hold on her chin before turning over her shoulder to look at the balcony, "Scorvs, you good for nothing akk pup, get down here and get your sister some kolto. Kadasha, you're to return with me for your meditation this afternoon. Typarnk, make yourself useful and see whether your father needs you for anything. And you, whelp, when you've gotten yourself stable, see to beginning your records for the day. Hopefully you'll learn something this time and not successfully lay yourself out like a welcome mat tomorrow."_

_And with that, the imposing woman (mother somehow) is gone, her cape fluttering behind her in the wind. Out of her sight now, Tri'ama slumps against her brother's form, heading pounding and sweat dribbling down her forehead. Kadasha's gaze lingers over her, and she looks at her hands longingly. Raegia is right, the girl has been learning the necessary components to begin to force heal, but it would be nowhere near powerful enough to render the need for kolto obsolete, "Go on ahead, Dasha. Wouldn't want Raegia mad at you too." Tri'ama rasps to her younger sister, vision swimming._

_Kadasha is clearly conflicted for the moment, but hugs her older sister tightly anyways before running off after their guardian and following her out of the building. True to her words, Scorvs lazily makes his way down to the training area with an assorted medical box as Typarnk helps her up. Yusaits will have words for her later, before healing whatever is making her see double of both brothers. That would be a conversation that she did not want to be having now._

_The kolto numbs away the pain for the time being, but the scars never go away. The bruises are ugly, blue and purple on her cheeks for days, and the dazed feeling doesn't vacate her head until the third day afterwards. Yusaits' healing numbs her alright, but it's because of the pain of Sith healing is why she doesn't feel it. She's successfully out for three days because of it, swimming through a pool of tears and pain. It's as if she's in a coma, without the loss of complete consciousness. She can feel it in her very bones -- her very soul every time that she moves, cries erupting from her throat that's on fire every moment of the day. She can barely speak those days._

_That day alone is one of the final nails in the coffin. Raegia's abuse disguised as constructive criticism for years on end is the reason she goes through with becoming Sith, if only to prove that she was wrong about her._

_And prove she does._

_When she returns to the Amarillis estate as the Emperor's Wrath shortly before being recruited by Arkous to deal with the Revanites, it's Typarnk on the ground before her, bleeding from multiple cuts and a bruise blooming on his arm. It is Scorvs who lays unmoving yards away from her, after being pushed away into a wall. It is Kadasha who has to always be on the defensive, parrying ever too slowly and ending up hurt. Amber eyes begging her to stop, but she continues on without mercy. It is her who stands at the end, looking down upon her siblings with a gaze akin to that of a bloodthirsty predator._

_And it is Raegia who begs her to stop, when it is all too much as she watches her children continue to be steamrolled underneath her power._

_The scar underneath her eye that the Amarillis matriarch dealt her all those years ago remains as an ugly reminder to why she stands for what she does within the Empire. She stands for strength, and won't fall in the face of an adversary, no matter who they are to her._

_She is Darth Amarillis-Quinn. She is the Emperor's Wrath. She is **no** one's whelp any longer._

-

**TRI’AMA._YAVIN_IV.**

The day starts off rather normally, a little too normally if she's being honest. Not with everything looming, should it be so peaceful. The wildlife is, for once, quiet though. There is no chittering of the birds today, as she cracks open one eye and then the other. No nightmares or odd omens the night prior, and she sits up without any pain in her lower back.

Tri'ama wakes up alone.

The constant thumping of small drops on the tent's roof signals to her that it's raining, as it seems to always be on Yavin. After so long of being off Dromound Kaas, Tri'ama is beginning to readjust to the weather patterns of the Emperor's planets. It never let up before, but as they grow closer and closer to the battle against Revan, the air is charged with an electricity she can only pinpoint as that of the Emperor's influence. It only reminds her of their goal, and why the mission is so important. He'd been weakened considerably by the Hero of Tython, she can't help but be annoyed that he couldn't finish the job outright. She wouldn't be here if he had. She wouldn't have bandages wrapped around her once, twice, three times, soaked through with dry blood or a nearly broken wrist if he did.

Tri'ama changes them out skillfully, still managing to nearly crush her bad wrist before rolling it around a few times. She inhales shakily, trying to remember how Quinn had applied bandages before and attempting to copy the motions herself with unsteady hands. The application is uneven at best, but it would have to do for now. Infections didn't matter if she were dead.

Vette had retrieved her armor from the Fury the night prior, and looking upon the red, white and black armor, she runs a pale hand over the durasteel. It's nothing like the Sith guards would wear, not nearly as heavy nor as much coverage. But, it would do better than the primarily fabric armor she'd worn during the entire excursion through Rishi and their missions through the jungle planet. It isn't extremely light either, she finds as she slips it on over the undersuit she wears. Whether it will protect her from a lightsaber or well-placed bolt of lightning would have to be seen, but she places her fate and trust in it for now. Agility mattered most, for someone that could not be caught could not be realistically killed. Tightening the straps around the breast plate, she finds a sense of security in the Imperial insignia emblazoned in a small corner of the metal, and fingers over it before hooking her sabers on her belt and equipping the other pieces of her armor.

As much as she wishes she had someone beside her, maybe Vette to make sarcastic comments on her choice of armor (Vette had something against her being in full Imperial suits, so Tri'ama didn't make it a habit to wear anything that screamed Sith), or Pierce's apathy over her decision (Pierce didn't have the same eye for fashion that she and their Twi'lek companion did, but was good company), or even Jaesa to inquire over more Sith teachings while she got dressed(Jaesa didn't care for fashion in the slightest, though she and Vette were getting closer to changing her taste in clothes), she knows it was dangerous already. All three of them, four if you counted Broonmark, were ready to haul jets at the first sign of trouble, though they'd all argued against her very sound and very well-thought out contigency plan. Somehow, some way, she'd made such an impact on them over the years that none of them were willing to leave her behind if the Emperor had his way and destroyed Yavin, and that alone was terrifying. What had made them stick around so long if not only for the benefits of her being Sith? It wasn't as they weren't well off with her, no one wanted for much because of the allowance they received from her. So much so that Vette had been visibly frustrated at the idea of her leaving them to their own devices -- _permanently_ that she made her promise to come back to them, or so help her she would be coming down guns blazing and kicking the Emperor's arse into the next millenia.

 _Oh how Tri'ama loved her adopted sister_. Only she would threaten using her two holdout blasters to kill an ancient evil, and make light of the situation at the exact same time. Jaesa and Pierce had readily agreed at the proposition, and not even a considerable sum of money would turn them from her service. Given, they weren't in a joking mood about Revan either, and it reminded her that she did have essentially a death squad riding around with her.

_I don't want them crying at my grave when I die, I want them to continue on with their lives. Get revenge if they're so inclined, really. It'd be a fun show to watch down in hell._

_I'm no God._

It's becoming increasingly difficult to get much of anything done this morning, she realizes, and she's still sleepy as she steps out of her tent. Usually, she's an early riser and didn't typically struggle to get going like this. Her first thought is the conversation she'd had with Malavai the evening prior messing with her emotional state, and then the cool night she'd spent out on the surely now busy taxi pad. But instead, it's as if the Force itself doesn't want her awake, as much as she lets the cool rain splash her directly in the face. There's a softness, numbing over the sharp edges of her mind, and it makes her want to lay down on the grass and close her eyes, though physically nothing other than her sore, dry eyes scream out to her that she's tired. Last night's sleeping period had been so quick, but that couldn't have been it.

Tri'ama remains exhausted as she continues to train vigorously in her own small place near her tent. It wasn't a horrible type of exhausted, so she's able to get up and get going, but her sluggish movements are only making her grow more frustrated with the situation entirely. It isn't until she grows so angry with being unable to hit the imaginary Revan in her mind, that she gives up with a growl in her throat and a broken pair of gauntlets on the ground next to her, her force strength also effectively tearing and twisting the durasteel pieces in two, and a piece of her tent coming crashing down as the pole snapped clean in half. Another piece of armor that saw the rage she could fly into at any given moment, and she'd have to acquire a new pair if she ever returned to Vaiken spacedock. The destructive usage of the Force seems to be what sets off the numbing action of the Force and allows her to see clearly, hatred flowing back into her like a roiling river and subsequently filling her with power. Tri'ama is in control once more, and a tight-lipped grin crosses her face as she hooks both blade hilts back onto her belt. She'd question it later, but she's wound up enough as it is. It's as if a ball of string has taken hold of her, and won't let her go. The anxiety continues to build as she packs up her small camp, and there's so much to get done before it's all over. A sense of finality washes over her as she throws the pack over her back, and turns her back on the small patch and heading back towards the main base, where the coalition forces' preparations are in full swing. People are running about here and there, speeders and transports are taking off all around her. People are saying their goodbyes, people are dueling with one another.

Mission reports that would be finalized and then inserted into their Intelligence archives, she reminds herself as she sees people running around with assorted datapads. Perhaps in preparation for most of the factions departure later in the day, some things she was sure Nox and Marr would keep their delicate hands on and stash away from the Republic 's watchful eyes under the pretenses they were only keeping the Empire intact after everything the Emperor had caused since the Revanites had risen. Because she wasn't technically part of the Council (as the Wrath, she was above the Council anyways, but assisted with the military Sphere considerably, but still didn't legally hold a seat) she didn't often have an opinion on how information should be handled or shared. Not one that would be listened to as it was. It wasn't as if the Republic wasn't going to do the same with their share of the information anyway. She was sure there would always be secrets she'd never learn from the Republic's excursion here on Yavin, though Intelligence would try their hardest to do so and acquire it from their former allies.

She's uneasy about it all. There's too much to be done in-between then and now, and it seems as if it all is impossible. As if it's all one big fever dream, and that they're all going to wake up to an apoctalyptic galaxy tomorrow. Tri'ama always had her reservations fighting impossible odds like this, and with how many deaths had been reported in the past few days fighting Revanites, people she was sure that assorted soldiers knew, she now knows why.

She would go as far as to believe it's the Emperor himself trying to cloud her mind, but it's too specific for him to be doing so, and not nearly strong enough to keep her from getting anything done. It's a curious matter she'd investigate soon enough, as it still leaves her mind sharp but a certain anxiety lifted off her shoulders for that very moment. To say the least, it's at least somewhat welcome.

Tri'ama isn't the last one to arrive at the war terminal, as both Nox, Grace and Lana remain missing from current company. Master Iresso lifts her head from where she'd been focusing on the terminal, maybe sensing her arrival, blue-grey eyes peering out of her hood curiously. She's changed into some sort of Jedi robe, dark brown and armored with grey plates. It's out of place for her, as she'd been running around in simply grey pants, boots and a sleeveless top for the last few days. It's nearly a 180 from her previous days with her, she realizes as she takes her place next to Marr. Just as quickly, Naji looks back down again, and whispers quietly back to Satele. No amiable smile, just the face of a worn battlemaster hoping to get through the day.

Tri'ama wasn't the only one who had realized just how much was on the line for this mission alone. She isn't the only one realizing that this was not a normal mission, that this was the end all be all.

As the others begin to trickle in, Theron seems momentarily surprised by her choice of armor once he takes notice after a break in the conversation. Though, he throws her a friendly half-smile that's barely covered by Master Grace's less than cheery arrival, which she reciprocates quickly before picking up the plan of attack again with Lana. Among all the X's and O's and possibilities and things that could go wrong and surely would, she's not hugely sure what had spurred her on so late at night to respond to the odd quote, but she couldn't keep herself from doing so. It was as if she was moving on autopilot as she was unsticking the wet clothes from herself, laying awake until she couldn't anymore. His name kept slipping into her thoughts as she tried to sleep. The way he looked at her on the Fury. It was such a distraction, but sadly, not an unwelcome one. The yearning was nearly painful at this point, feeling phantom fingers running through her hair, a ghost of hand on the small of her back.

Subconsciously, she wonders what he thought of it all. What he actually thought of her. What he saw her as, more than just the Wrath she figures.

She hopes.

She hadn't received a response from the Republic agent when she'd woken up this morning if there had been one, and she's curious if she's said something wrong to put him off.

_You're probably breaking about six different cultural rules and another fifteen of your own personal moral code. What you said is the **least** of your concern._

"Finally, there can be trust between us -- and not a moment too soon." Marr begins, and Tri'ama pulls her attention from that concern, "As we speak, our forces are working with the Republic to end the Revanite threat and take the temple." As if to punctuate his words, another Imperial ship takes off and flies into the distance, a slight breeze blowing everyone's loose clothing and hair this way and that. And then another, and another. There must've been thousands of soldiers flying above them now, and she's in awe so many would work so closely with those of the opposite faction.

"In spite of our differences -- and the fact we're at war -- the four of you were able to inspire a sort of cooperation I never imagined possible." Satele says, a hint of an impressed tone underneath her calm attitude, "Credit where it's due: you succeeded where Darth Marr and I failed."

"But we aren't finished yet. There is one element even our combined militaries will be unable to stop." Darth Marr undercuts this with an ominious response, and Tri'ama's heart begins beating faster before the words can reach her lips, filling in the obvious blank.

"Revan." Whyatt says in a quiet voice, barely loud enough to carry across the meeting area. For at least the third or fourth time on this trip, she wonders if he's really qualified to be here, head down at the holoterminal and hands in a tight fist, dark knuckles nearly white. He's terrified, and even Tri'ama can't deny that she feels bad for him.

_He's a Jedi, missing Master or not, it's not your job to feel bad. He's a Master, so of course he'd be able to protect himself._

"Given his failure, he'll try to escape, to regroup. That cannot be allowed to happen." Darth Marr says, and if this wasn't already set in hard stone, it is now. There isn't a single friendly face in the area that isn't ready for war, and Tri'ama readjusts her respirator. Naji gently bumps against the young Jedi appearing to be entirely on accident, and moving to give Theron a datapad. It isn't very well hidden that all she wanted to do was comfort him, and by his meek presence change, it's well-received.

"Consider it taken care of." Nox answers proudly. There's a gold glow to her eyes, and her presence radiates confidence, as if they aren't walking into a predetermined death. A strange smirk falls over her face, eyes narrowing. She's battle-ready, ready to leave everything behind. Knowing the woman, she would be happy to deal the final blow to the living myth, "Revan will fall by nightfall."

That's it.

That would be all.

_That was all._

That would be the last time she'd see any of these people in the same space again, and she takes in the scene. Three Jedi, an SIS agent, three Sith and herself. There's a sense of something powerful here, and what they've created over the last few weeks...Tri'ama would admit she was proud of. As much as she had her differences with the Jedi and her fellow Sith along the way, she had found that she, Nox and inadvertently, Naji had learned to rely on each other. If not without their own reservations, but it is fascinating.

As if they had not all been at each other's throats only weeks ago.

How would the war effort ever continue, with the Emperor temporarily disposed of and secrets easily being leaked between the two factions during their time here on Yavin? Surely it would be easy to gain access to the the other faction's safehouses and plans after all that had occurred. Warfare would be brutal in the coming months, and many civillians would end up losing their lives in a war they didn't sign up for. Would it be a stalemate for years, or would the Republic finally come out on top due to the loss of the Emperor? Would the Empire rise again, seeking vengeance for the loss of their God?

How would her own life continue, after meeting someone that respected her and was willing to challenge her and then losing him all over again? Knowing Quinn would always only be a holocom call away, that Pierce was only a few doors down? Knowing she would fall back on old habits anyways, sets a cold feeling within her that she can't shake. Everything is going to go back the way that she didn't want it to, the way she wanted to leave behind.

She's getting worse and worse and worse at trying to let go. Let go of this fantasy she's crafted in her head.

Tri'ama tries to catch Theron's eyes again before they leave, but he's already gone another direction than she has with the Barsen'thor, Master Grace and the Grand Master. Running a hand through her hair in frustration, she's halfway to screaming at her own indecisiveness and inability to even begin to admit her feelings. Nox yanks her along by a sleeve roughly though, and any thought of getting in contact with him before they fight Revan is replaced by annoyance for the older Sith Lord. The woman had the audacity to tow her along as if she were little more than a child, and the worse to be in little more than her typical light robes, and she wonders if she should tell her the prognosis wasn't good with her current fashion sense in mind. There may be armor underneath the black and gold fabric, but Tri'ama wasn't holding her breath that there was any. Nox was known for her beautiful outfits and even more over the top fights against Sith and Republic alike, but Revan would target her first if he knew this information.

They take a transport ship over to the Temple, a skilled Republic pilot at the helm. Tri'ama doesn't know their name, and intentionally doesn't ever mean to learn it. Leaning against the durasteel of the wall, she tries to distract herself from what was coming next. Naji sits quietly nearby, glowing dimly as she meditates, her force presence completely shut off. Not a single emotion is able to be felt from the Jedi, and considering everything going on around them, she is the eye of the storm within the whirlwind of other reactions she can dimly sense of everyone else aboard the ship. Nox rolls her eyes when she glances over to the Barsen'thor, picking dirt out from underneath her nails and fixing her pristine braid bun. Nox is never worried about any major battle ever anyways, and her subconscious scoffs at the idea of talking to her about the issue. Master Grace is with Satele and Theron in the cockpit, surely to calm him down or at least curb the worst of his anxiety. Marr is pacing nearby, seething his own hatred beneath the armor in preparation to expel it all in less than half an hour. Lana is on the ground between the seats, kneeling with a red aura about her. The Sith have been preparing for war, and here it is.

It's time to show Revan what galaxy he's threatened. Which people he will fall to.

She can't stop her racing thoughts, her racing heart. The ship creaks every once and a while, shaking in the airspace as the wind throws them about, rain thrashing in sheets against the hull. Tri'ama is trembling herself, though not enough to garner the attention of anyone else. She flexes and unflexes her hands, and the calming Force has dwindled away considerably. All of her senses are sharper, too sharp. Her anxieties are coming back in full force, and without the helping presence within her, there's not much she can do to keep it from bubbling up and out. She tries to focus on an arbitrary screw somewhere in the room, with her vision swimming as her lungs feel as if they're only getting smaller. As if at any given time, someone could shove a lightsaber right through her sternum and end it all there.

That thought only makes it worse, until she sits down on the opposite side of the bench from Nox. She can't stand now, it only feels as if the ship is getting smaller around her. The edges of her sight are darkening, her pulse loud in her ears.

_"Don't think about everything that can go wrong. Think about everything that can go right." Yusaits had once told her a late evening in the spring rotation of Dromound Kaas, "That is the foundation of a strong attack, making an opponent believe you have the upper hand on them. You will just as easily crumble if you allow them to do it to you."_

There's nothing that can go right here, even with the most optimistic outlook on it all. Something will have to give, and Tri'ama prays it won't be one of her people's lives that she loses in the midst of battle. Not that she was the most friendly person anyone would ever meet, but it would be a loss to the Empire should any of them lose to Revan.

The Jedi weren't exactly expendable, and if they died the Republic would have the four Sith's heads on sticks, but it would be hard for life to go on if Marr died, if Lana died, if Nox died. Two seats would be rendered empty and up for grabs from anyone who was put into the chair, opening up opportunity for a coup. Defense of the Empire and Ancient Knowledge, while small, had powers that Marr and Nox had yet to exploit. She could only imagine what would occur if someone else took the seats. Lana was only just now living on the promise that she'd get some sort of normal life back after all of this. Three children would be eternally waiting for their mother to come home to them, and have to live on knowing she died for a cause.

Tri'ama wasn't sure if she'd feel guilty for their deaths. She's conflicted, as the Empire is often about power first, not always alliances. Sometimes they fell into place by circumstance, like with Lana and Theron, sometimes they were after you had to admit your power wasn't that of another's, she bitterly remembers that's why Nox had even joined the coalition, because of a request made on her behalf. Sometimes it was sheer coincedence, like with Whyatt, or by fate, with the Barsen'thor. She would miss Nox, as frustrating as she was at the best of times, she would miss Lana. She didn't have a real opinion on Satele or Marr (and likely wouldn't ever), and it would be highly regrettable if Masters Grace and Iresso weren't around any longer to continue to defend the galaxy.

She'd be more than disraught if Revan killed Theron. He would never be safe from her wrath, no matter how far he ran. If she let him run, that was.

In the end, it was their decision to do this. To fight a power not many knew much about. To go up against fate itself, knowing (or denying) this may be their last fight. Ever. No going back, not backspace. This was it.

The ship hits something just as she finishes that thought.

Hard.

Tri'ama slides out of her seat and hits the end of the ship violently, rubbing the back of her head as Naji just nearly meets a similar fate. Lana has been surprised, evidently, and gets a Force hold on something first, Marr doing the same. The ship slows, righting itself as everyone gains their bearings again. A moment later, the door separating them from the cockpit slides open, and the Twi'lek who was at the helm is visibly displeased, lifting their goggles up onto their forehead, "Sorry for the rough landin' m'lords. Nearly would've gotten us all fried if we hadn't swerved like that."

"Nice to know the Emperor is trying to kill us before we even land to fight his precious champion." Nox groans, pulling herself up and dusting off her shoulders. Her hair has come out in strands around her bun, making her look more like the savage woman that Tri'ama knew her as, "Any opposing forces, Twi'lek?" She asks, a grimace on her face.

"Not any that I saw, m'lord. Given it's a kriffin' hell of a storm out there, but I have half a mind to to think we would've been shot down by now if there was someone out there with any rockets." They scratch the back of their head before sighing defeatedly, green eyes full of fear against their blue skin, "Two minute hike up there to the main part of the temple. Close as I could get you before I'd end up just landing on the temple itself and gettin' blasted to bits. Good luck, ground team."

"Thank you." Naji says, nodding to them as the blast door opens. The Twi'lek wasn't kidding about the storm, rain pounding down and lightning crackling in the not-so-far distance. Another lightning strike hits, closer this time, and she can see everyone awash with bright white light for just a moment. Naji moves closer to them, wrapping her arms around them hugging tightly, "Get back to base safely, Reese."

"You don't gotta tell me twice, Barsen'thor. Hope I can get back in before they shut things up, with the storm on the way and all. You and your crew always got a place at Carrick with me when you make it outta here." The Twi'lek bids the woman a hurried goodbye as the others leave the ship in various states of surprise, and Reese takes off again.

"Check your equipment, for I am sure this is the last time we will have the chance to do so before Revan wreaks havoc on us all." Marr says, his own lightsaber hilt in his hand. Tri'ama had dutifully done so enough times the night prior, almost to the point of staying up all night unassembling and then reassembling the parts of her lightsaber, but after the rough landing she was sure something was damaged. The armor had defused most of the damage she would've taken had she been in light armor, and she struggles not to hiss in sympathetic pain when she can see a deep purple bruise beginning to bloom on Nox's ghastly right arm as she checks her double saber.

Well, Nox thrived off pain. Hopefully it would serve her well now.

"If we fail on this mission, I wish for you all to know that you have been honorable allies." Satele says, reclipping her own lightsaber to her belt, "The Empire and the Republic have struggled to ally themselves for years, but today we have proven it is not impossible. This truce will not last forever, but I thank you all for your assistance while you were her."

"You needn't worry, Grand Master. We will not balk in the face of danger." Lana responds calmly in a parade rest, as if this was a normal occurrence for her, "Revan will fall."

"Glad we're all so optimistic." Theron says almost sarcastically, and if she weren't oddly observant right now, she wouldn't have caught Satele's near-perfect eye raise at her son's response. His eyes land on her, with a sad sort of determination behind them, "Barsen'thor, Wrath. Whenever you're ready."

She nods, hoping that he can figure she means more than well. The Barsen'thor is apprehensive to begin. Her hood can't hide her fear, and her presence is deafening to Tri'ama, setting in another second sense of anxiety within her. Is it this loud to everyone else? Overpowering and nearly throwing her off balance. Her nearly identical, troubled grey eyes won't meet her's, and Tri'ama decides it is no longer time for arbitrary truces.

It is time for action. She is ready to remind Revan who the Sith are and why they are among the most powerful in the galaxy.

It's harder to stalk her way through the rain and wind as if everything isn't bothering her and her heart is about to beat out her chest. At some point, the Barsen'thor catches up to her. Her hood has blown back, blonde hair blowing a whirlwind behind her. Her eyes are steeled ahead, a woman on a mission. The others would follow them in soon enough, but because Revan had already encountered them both before on Rishi, they'd lead the charge for the time being, in case they could get the drop on him or talk him out of whatever he was doing. The Jedi's idea, not hers.

Tri'ama would stab him through with a lightsaber before she even let him get close enough to talk. She did not reason with cult leaders. She did not reason with insanity.

The storm lets up rather suddenly when they arrive to the main part of the temple, and it's like walking through a curtain. It's only drizzling as the pair walk up the steps, and Tri'ama's heart nearly stops as they both pause at the top. The man is in all black, with a mask that covers his whole face. He wields a singular purple lightsaber, aiming for them both.

"It's over, Revan." She starts, struggling not to grab her own lightsaber at this point, and not throw at him as she would anyone else. This was not only the man who'd taken Theron from them, but also the one who had been tormenting her for months on end. Eating away at not only the Republic, but also her home, the Empire. Watching him fall would be her triumph, and it would be sweet to put an end to him, "You can't win."

"You've been at my heels for too long, Wrath." He answers, a gravelly voice from beyond the mask as he addresses her, "I knew the Rishi plan was a longshot, but I had to try. Had to make it legitimate. I needed to lure you both here." He pauses again, lowering his lightsaber for moment, "You were supposed to stay busy on Rishi long enough for me to finish here. But no, you couldn't do that, could you?"

"This has all been one big deception, hasn't it? You aren't even the man you claim to be." Naji finds her voice, and responds, stepping forward herself, "Don't try to deny it, you and I both know that."

"You don't know what you're talking about." He trails off, and Tri'ama reaches for her lightsaber as he turns from them, disigniting his own saber. Naji holds up a hand to pause her, and begrudgingly she drops her hand back down to her side. The Wrath isn't sure what Revan is about to pull, but the Force is at her disposal should she need it. When he does eventually face them again, he's removed his mask.

Who does he claim to be, if not Revan? If not the living body of the ghost they met in the cave, then who were they really fighting? The same scars run along his face, the same build, the same nearly soulless eyes. He's a carbon copy of the ghost, all without being see-through, and much less agreeable than the version they'd met before.

It's terrifying.

"I spent three hundred years in lock step with the Emperor's mind. I know what he's become, and what he wants." He declares, and she can only imagine the torture he went through years and years before she was born. It doesn't change that she still wants him dead, but she wonders if he's an omen to what she would become if she stayed loyal to the Emperor.

If that was the case, it only solidified her decision further. She was no Wrath of his any longer.

"The Emperor must be destroyed completely or he will return and consume every last thing! There is no cost too great. If I have to snuff out every life on this world by hand to draw the Emperor out, then so be it!"

"If you're Revan, then who did I speak to outside the temple?" Tri'ama asks, successfully ending his tirade. She's determined to get the answers before she kills him, even though Naji throws her an odd look. This will not go on as a mystery after she's gone.

"Of course, it's so obvious now. You have no idea what I am, what I've become." He responds, effectively skirting the question without even an answer, "I was a Dark Lord of the Sith. I was the Prodigal Knight. I was powerful -- but I was also weak. Not anymore."

"Now I'm pure. Unburdened. I can finally have revenge on my jailer and save the galaxy doing it!" That resonates a little too close to home, lightning crackling somewhere beyond them all and thunder clapping. At the very least, she, the coalition and Revan all have the same goal. But instead of dealing with it as they were, he started a whole cult to finish him off that backfired on him, "I have the power -- and you have nothing!"

She can hear the sounds of assorted boots behind her, and she allows herself a small smirk beneath her respirator at the noise. This was where they began their last stand, and their small fighting force has arrived.

"You are wrong, Revan." Marr declared. She can't see them just yet, but she knows that the others have arrived. Each presence is unique, but all scream in resistance, "They have powerful allies."

"Both Sith, and Jedi." Satele's softer but just as commanding voice adds.

"Allies from all corners of the galaxy." Lana audibly draws her saber and ignites it, the comforting hum of an ignited kyber crystal filling her ears. A few more are ignited behind her, and she can see the blue of Satele's, the green of Naji's and the red of Marr's beside her.

"They won't ever be alone." Confident as ever, Nox's lavender double blade is lit and pointed directly at him, "We've got you now, Revan."

What she first mistakes for thunder is the sound of a jetpack, and she lifts her head for just a moment to find a Mandalorian landing only a few feet from her. It takes her a moment to recognize the armor, and C2-D4 asks the question before she can, "Shae Vizla?"

"Heard the fight to end all fights was going down. What sorry kind of Mando would I be if I missed out?" She asks, a certain amount of humor in her voice. Though, Tri'ama isn't stupid enough to mistake it for idiocy. Unexpected, but her arrival was appreciated. It wasn't the Force, but Mandalorians packed a lot of firepower, and that was all they really needed against him.

"You were saying?" Tri'ama asks, finally pulling both sabers off her belt, the buzz of an ignited lightsaber welcome in her hands. Adrenaline is beginning to run through her veins, "This is your end, Revan."

"I don't care how many of you there are. I won't be denied my destiny! I _am_ Revan!" He starts to cast something, and Tri'ama takes a defensive stance to try and block it. A blast knocks them all backwards, and she can just barely steel herself against the brunt of the attack, being thrown against a stone pillar. The wind is easily knocked out of her, but she gets to her feet easily enough. A quick scan of her allies finds them all in various reactions to the force blast, but they aren't too shaken from what she can see, picking themselves up and redrawing their weapons.

Surprisingly enough, she isn't the first to attack the man. An arc of lightning shoots across her path, Nox's hands outstretched with a maddening grin on her face. Revan shoves her back, an audible slam against another ruin as she crumples. She's able to get back to her feet with the help of the Barsen'thor, who'd been near her before previously. Both stand, Nox scowling with her red lipstick smeared across her face, ready whenever someone else attacks. With the break in his focus, Tri'ama leaps with a battle cry and Revan is forced to turn his attention to parry both of her blades with his own. With that, the battle is unleashed upon the ruins as she dodges lightning, blaster bolts and chunks of rock, trying to get a hit in here and there. He's good, she'll admit that. After three hundred years, he had plenty of time to cultivate an insane amount of skill. But she was wrath personified, rage in a human form.

Marr and Master Grace follow her attack, the Sith Lord and Jedi Knight leaping in after her in a haze of red and blue lightsabers in the fight. Revan dodges here and there, and they aren't exactly in sync. There are a few time she's sure she'd end up falling not to Revan, but to Master Grace's attack style instead. Not that it wasn't effective, but it was a far cry from her and Marr's Juyo form, one she recognized later as Makashi instead.

The battle wanes on for a long while, attack patterns ever-changing as cover fire rains down upon the former Sith Lord, the Barsen'thor and Satele making short work of any serious injuries anyone endured, Nox striking a few times herself after she gets bored of attempting to shock the man, the lavender blade not as easily parried as the other three force user's melee attacks. Maybe out of concern, maybe out of pure stupidity she keeps a tab on Theron, blocking the worst attacks from his position. It distracts her a few times, Revan's red blade keeping her on her feet.

They're winning, she can see as they press their attack. They _will_ win. He's one man, they are ten highly-trained and powerful people people who are here to make sure he doesn't return again.

It isn't until he's clearly losing to the assaulting fighting force that he force chokes her nearly out of nowhere and lifts her off her feet for the time being. A strong grip on her throat and windpipe being crushed, she sputters to get a gasp of air in or out her lungs. Tri'ama struggles, vision blurring as her hands go up instinctively to claw at her throat. He focuses on her for a moment, maybe curious after throwing Grace and Nox back only moments prior. A few blaster shots ricochet harmlessly off his armor at that moment, but then it is over as soon as Marr attempts to get a hit in and she's thrown back with a powerful force throw against the outer wall nearby that nearly knocks her out entirely. Cotton and static fill her ears as she attempts to re-register her surroundings. A voice screams out her title, maybe? A shrill _"Wrath!"_ by most likely the Barsen'thor by the tone of voice. Blasters continue to fire further away from her, lightning crackles and strikes in the distance.

And here she is, laid out by an ancient evil and curling in on her side where she'd hit the rock the hardest. Her head is pounding behind her eyes, surely from after hitting it so hard on her fall. Everything is too bright, and even through the impaired hearing, it's also too loud. Concussed, most likely, but she'd die before she let a mere concussion keep her down.She'd like to say that her life flashes before her eyes, but it doesn't. Instead, stabbing pain shoots up her side as she crawls to her feet, struggling to get her perception of the world back, and she finds that her balance is heavily distorted. Rubbing beneath her nose, she finds it comes away with blood.

The warm feeling envelops her again as she resummons the blade hilts to her hands, stalking back towards the fighting, but like before it leaves her senses sharp. The imbalance of her perception is rendered obsolete for the most part, and she's able to make the leap back to Revan with red lightsabers in hand. Tri'ama can only imagine she looks horribly mad, hair wet and all over her head, blood dripping from her nose and surely her head as well. Revan's strength was already faltering by the assault, as Lana had also given up her long-distance attack after she'd fallen. He very clearly doesn't expect her to come back, eyes widening as she slashes at his side in his moment of weakness. Lana slams him away with a well placed force shove as he falls, and he skids to a stop a few feet away. Tri'ama doesn't bother trusting that he's met death yet, and keeps her right saber ignited before marching over to him.

"In defeating me, you've let the real enemy linger on. You... you doom the galaxy!" Revan says breathlessly, pushing himself up onto his side as she aims her own lightsaber to his crumpled form.

"Had you been successful, had you brought the Emperor back, you would have made the galaxy's destruction all but a certainty." Tri'ama can barely form her words properly, breathing hard as pain shoots through her lung. Lifting her saber, she's ready to end it here and now.

" _She's right, you know._ " A disembodied voice sends a shock of mild panic through her, but she can almost tell it isn't the Emperor. A moment later, the ghost of Revan appears before them all.

"No. Not you." His eyes widen in surprise at the new arruvals, and Tri'ama steps aside for the ghost to approach him.

" _You've been blinded by your unchecked rage, your thirst for vengeance, that you could not see the truth._ " The ghost says, " _Now that your power has subsided, I may finally confront you. I only hope you will listen._ "

"You're both Revan..." Naji notes curiously, approaching with the rest of the team. Easily, she's voicing one of about thirteen million questions that Tri'ama has in that very moment.

" _Yes, though neither of us is truly Revan._ " The ghost of Revan admits, "When I died, I had come to terms. I was ready to become one with the Force. But I soon realized that was only what part of me wanted.

"I cast you out! It was the only way to go on -- to remain and finish what we started! You were holding me back!" The physical version shouts. Two versions? Two Revans? Tri'ama can't imagine how this might have come about, though disignites her lightsaber and hooking it on her belt.

" _You think you're stronger this way, but you're not. Neither of us is. We're broken, we can't go on like this._ "

"I won't stop. Not until I conjure the Emperor. I have to face him." As if intended, or an ominous laugh sounds. Not a chuckle, but a menacing cackle. It's all around them, and yet sourcing from no where.

_The Emperor._

"You wanted my return. You did not need to destroy whole fleets or turn a living world barren for that..." The Emperor says, a roar in his voice that Tri'ama would never begin to forget for as long as she lived, "You only had to point the Empire and Republic to a shared adversary, and let them do what they do naturally: make war. The scores of dead have nourished me. I am awakened. And I bring with me -- death!" Punctuating his words is a torrent of rain, lightning striking the temple in front of them. A purple light shoots into the sky, enveloping the building. Shaking erupts around them, and she falls to one knee, trying to ride out the earthquake. The wind picks up just afterwards, as she and her allies struggle to their feet.

"The Emperor was not as strong as he might have been had Revan succeeded, but he is strong enough." Satele says, as Revan turns away from them once more. An omen then, for what was coming.

They'd failed.

"No... he was supposed to face me...to..." He's struggling to even live at this point, Tri'ama can tell. As frustrated as he is, he knows that he's lost.

" _You're too weak. You won't last._ " His ghost says, a sense of finality in his voice. Maybe she would read up on the history of Revan once she returns to the Fury, and she's rather curious how they were separated in the first place.

"I...if we unite, what I am -- won't it fade? Become diminished?"

" _Wrath. Even I look in awe at your accelerated rise to power._ " Revan's ghost acknowledges her again, turning to face her as he ignores his physical form's questions, "You did not get where you are today through kindness or moderation. It had served you well. You make a fine example."

"I don't know if I'm ready." Revan's meek voice is too quiet to have been the same person they'd just fought off only moments ago, and the numbing power of the Force increases, numbing away the pain for just a bit longer.

" _You have to be. We have to._ "

The next few moments are a blur that she attempts to process later. In a flash of light, the physical Revan is gone, armor falling to the floor in a heap. Only the ghost remains, "You've found your center." Naji says, voice straining to be heard.

"I have. For the first time in a long time." He nods in gratitude to the Barsen'thor, "Thank you -- for all you've done, and all you've shown me. Dark days lie ahead. The darkest days. If my error can't be undone, everyone will pay the price." Revan fades away in little more than just a flash of light blue light, "Brace for the worst..."

It's done.

It's over.

Rain pouring down, her adrenaline is sloping off. The pain is coming back in a wave. Though she has a reputation to uphold in front of everyone else, she attempts her best to follow after the rest of the team to meet Reese and leave for the staging area again. But her body betrays her in the worst kind of way, and her knees buckle beneath her, collapsing into a heap on the ground. The power of the Force can't save her from this, and even it can't numb away it all. Her vision swims before her, the Barsen'thor's robes the first thing she sees as she rolls onto her side. There's a flash of red and black, both Lana and Theron behind her. Tri'ama struggles to keep her eyes open long enough to respond to anyone, trying to push herself up with her now bad arm.

"Stars, _Wrath_." Naji groans softly, her own bloodied and bruised face looking down on her with her blonde hair plastered to the sides of her face. She's gently glowing, trying to do damage control on her assorted injuries. Warmth is pushed into her as Naji grimaces at the action, "You are going to have one hell of a headache in the morning."

"Given I wake in the morning." Tri'ama answers bluntly, slumping back down onto the floor in a heap. Naji nearly rolls her eyes before she's really beginning to lose her vision and perception of the world. Her eyes lift to Theron's form, blinking for a moment as his face becomes sharper. He's suffered, more scars added to the ones she had run her fingers over weeks earlier, some still bleeding. Everyone has.

They were supposed to end Revan. They were supposed to end the Emperor before he could wake again. She's flashing in and out of consciousness, as someone has picked her up bridal style to escort her back to the transport.

And then, the world goes black.

-

"So, I guess this is goodbye." A gruffer voice says as she wakes again. How long it's been that Tri'ama has been out, she's not sure. But as she comes to her senses, she has been taken out of the bigger pieces of her armor and left in her undersuit under a light blanket. Ships are taking off outside, and the lights are too bright for her to do much but crack open her eyes slowly. They've made it back to the staging area, and the tent flap closes back behind Lana. She can't do anything to acknowledge the other woman to let her know she's awake, so she just listens for the time being.

"I suppose so. It's been...an experience, Theron. Be well to yourself." Lana responds, standing to where he was sitting. She can feel Naji's presence somewhere, but nowhere in her immediate vincinity, which she finds odd. The woman must've left shortly before she woke up.

"Yeah. Yeah, you too Lana. Try not to get into too much trouble, all right?" The gruff voice grows a bit softer as her ears begin to unclog themselves, and she finds that it was Theron that she'd assumed Lana had been talking to. Why he'd been sitting with her, she's unsure. A warmth completely unattached to the Force fills her at the thought of Theron waiting on her, though she attempts to dismiss it.

"I'll try not to." Lana says, a smile in her voice. The Sith woman looks over to her surely broken form, a slight smile on her lips, "It's good to see you've recovered, Wrath."

"Recover may be too strong of a word." She groans, trying to push herself up against the pillows on the bed, and Theron pivots just out of sight to help her up. Not too quick to garner any suspicion, but his touch lingers just long enough to let her know it was more than just friendly, "We haven't won. But Revan is done for."

"As far as we know, yes." Lana says, coming to stand where she could see her. The woman had sustained some obvious injuries on her face, a cut that was sure to scar just above the collar of her armor, "The Empire is leaving very soon, and your crew will be landing in a few hours to collect you."

"According to the Barsen'thor, you suffered a concussion and a couple broken bones. Nothing she couldn't really handle, but we figured you'd be better off healing on your ship than passed out for a few days here." Theron fills in the blanks for her. He pinches the bridge of his nose, hazel eyes pinned on her, "You've been out for a couple hours, and she did the best to numb the worst of the pain until you could be moved."

"Oh wonderful. Surely not too much has happened since then?" Tri'ama questions her two companions. A couple hours here, anything could've happened before she woke.

"Nothing of note, no. Darth Marr would like to speak to you and Darth Nox when you return to the Fury for a minor debriefing though. Then, we all can go our separate ways." Lana answers. Her glance flickers to Theron for a moment, before the corners of her red lips curve upwards, "You've done well for yourself, Wrath. I have a few things to get done before I leave as well. If you ever need me, I'm only a holocom away."

Tri'ama nods, and Lana leaves. She'd been an honorable ally, and she dearly hopes she has the opportunity to fight alongside her again before either of them die.

Now, it is only her and Theron left. Frowning, she leans back into the pillows, trying to figure the best way to explain her feelings, explain anything before he leaves. He's got a bandage plastered to his face, and one of his implants is out, and she wants to reach out to touch him. Tri'ama doesn't want to leave him, she doesn't want him to leave.

She wants him to be hers.

But they haven't exchanged words since...nearly weeks ago.

"I-"

"I-"

They both try to start at the same time, and Tri'ama bites her lip before thinking to herself again.

"I'm sorry for my behavior, Theron. It wasn't fair to you." Is the first thing out of her mouth, and there's surprise behind his eyes and in his face, "I apologize if I lead you on for so long."

"No, I...I shouldn't have tried to get involved in something that didn't involve me. I should've been more careful with you." Theron says softly, and she lifts her head to meet his gaze, "This is my fault as much as yours."

"Theron. It isn't. I should've told you beforehand I was still married. There's no excuse for me not doing so other than petty fear. I'm sorry I ruined _this_." There's a pause between them, and he pushes a curl of hair behind her ear, his hand lingering on her jaw. Tri'ama leans into the touch, and he leans into her to kiss her gently. They stay like that for a moment, as she tries to savor the taste of him, knowing she'd have to let go soon. Stars, if she could just steal him back to the Empire, she would.

"What a ride, huh? If you'd told me when we met all the ups and downs we'd go through together, I'd have called you crazy." He says, after he pulls away from her longing gaze. His hand is only a few inches from her's as he sits on the cot, facing her, "Maybe I called you crazy anyways. I don't remember anymore. Between all my family fun with Revan and the Grand Master, and then, well, you..."

"How is it between you and Satele? Any better?" Tri'ama asks, trying to lighten the conversation. She is genuinely curious after offering him advice back on Rishi, and wonders if either party had succeeded in growing closer to the other.

"It's...look let's talk about that some other time, yeah?" Theron asks, expression dimming. Tri'ama wonders if she should tell him there won't be another time, but holds her tongue. This, she wants it to last as long as she can force it to, "Well, look, there isn't any easy way to say this, but...I mean, we both know this would have to end eventually. The Republic exonerated me, so I'm back in the fold. And they gave me a new job, a big one."

"That's quite a vote of confidence. You deserve it." She says softly, before placing her scarred hand over his. When it's not immediately denied, she intertwines his fingers with hers. A sad smile replaces his frown.

"Okay, that's...unexpected." He says, looking down at their hands before looking back up at her, sorrow written all over his face. This is hard for him, and she's making harder, just as she'd promised she wouldn't, "You know what this means right? Soon as we rejoin the fleet and make the jump to lightspeed, that's it. No more truce. You and I, we probably won't exchange another word ever again. No more unauthorized rides on the Fury, no more sneaking away from everyone else to have a few moments to ourselves. That's it."

She pauses, unsure how to respond as she tightens her grip on his hand. As if that'll make him stay any longer. Unlike Pierce, he really is unattainable. She can't have him long-term, and she'll never see him again. All she'll have are the memories of him on the Fury, with his fingers tangled in her hair, with his body pressed up against her's. There was no more star-crossed lovers written in the cards for her, and she hates that she has to accept it.

"I don't _need_ words, Theron." She whispers, before painfully pushing herself forward to kiss him hard. As much passion that is running through her veins, she is sure Theron Shan has as well, "I only _need_ you."

 _I don't love him_ , she reminds herself, taking a breath before pressing her lips against his again.

_But you respect him. And you admire him._

Tri'ama isn't sure how long they spend together. Every moment she lays with him is another moment that someone could walk in, looking for one or the other. That only spurs her on though, kissing every inch of exposed skin that she can get her lips on. This was all they had left, and she doesn't want to let go. As much pain that courses through her body with every action, it's all worth it to have him to herself.

 _You don't love him_ , she reminds herself as he helps her off the cot, a strong arm around her waist.

 _You respect him for who he is_ , she reminds herself while he helps her replace all the of the durasteel armor that had been taken off her. It's slow going, kisses here and there. A bruise blooms on Theron's collarbone, another matching one on her neck.

 _And you admire him_ , she almost says aloud, once he's left after yet another bruising kiss. Their last. The son of a Jedi and a Republic Commander would never be hers, and she hopes that whoever does eventually lay claim on his heart fufills the hole she leaves.

She dials her holocall to find Vette and her crew once she's gathered all that she requires to leave.

_But you don't love him._

_You can't love him._

_But blazes if it didn't mean that she didn't want to._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh tri'ama, if only you knew...


	13. Hopes and Dreams - Ziost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Khaak considers her relationship with Lana may not last forever. The end of a world is coming, and one woman knows it.

**KHAAK._DROMOUND_KAAS.**

Kaas City was the place to be. Really, it was.

Well, with a certain someone in it.

 _Mrs._ Khaak Beniko would be the first person to admit that over Coruscant, she enjoyed it more. Raining constantly, yes, but it has a certain elegance that can't be found anywhere else. The sleek silver buildings, the gorgeous evenings on the balcony, just the entire style of the place...she was a lucky woman to even live here among the blue bloods of Sith society. Had Lana not invited her to accompany her to such a home three years ago, she'd surely still be living on the _Clarity,_ eating gutter trash and chasing it down with cheap whiskey, watching unsavory videos in the privacy of her bedroom. Half dressed and waiting for death to claim her.

And the _Clarity_ most definitely didn't have silk sheets. Up until five or so years ago, it also didn't have the woman of her dreams next to her in bed. Wasn't nearly as clean either, so Khaak counts it as a win. She didn't think it could ever escape it's perpetual junky state after she'd built it from scraps as a child, but her wife had managed it some how. Lifting her hand into her vision, the glint of a silver band against her deep pink skin makes her warm on the inside. Really, how had she gone from meeting pirates every other day to bumping elbows with some of most influential Sith in the history of Sith, she supposed?

Hell, how'd she even go from getting herself off on her own hand to sleeping with and subsequently marrying one of the most powerful in the Sith hierarchy? It really was a miracle, some star had shined down upon her that fateful night and had gotten her to meet one of the most extraordinary women in the galaxy.

One she probably didn't deserve, and had only happened on accident the first time they'd met anyways.

Figuring she has to get up at some time or the other today instead of internalizing the jump in hierarchy status, she groans and stretches her arms over her head, smacking the back of her hands against the headboard of the bed. Hissing out a quiet curse as not to wake her wife, she blinks a few times and pushes herself up into a sitting position. She yawns, taking note that it's still raining, just as it was the night before. Though, it has lightened up a bit compared to how it had been, which means she might actually be able to go out today and not catch a debilitating cold. She tended to run warmer than the Sith she shared the apartment with, which was the only downside of living on the cursed jungle turned city planet. It meant Lana would pay some extra attention to her nearly freezing lekku though, which also stole her away from any important work for a few hours. Wasn't all bad, in that matter.

Rubbing the offending hand over her eyes, she uses the other to gently nudge the woman awake. It takes a few tries, but eventually the Sith groans and rolls over to face her. Khaak cheekily grins as one eye opens, and then the other. Another offended grunt once she realizes who it is, and she pulls a sheet back up around her shoulders, promptly rolling back over. Snickering, Khaak gently brushes a strand of blonde hair from the woman's face. One golden iris looks back up at her, a grimace on her face. Noting the dark circles under her eyes, she lays a hand against her cool cheek, "Lana, babe, we gotta get up at some time or another."

"Surely the Emperor will wait another few hours for us to deal with him." Lana whispers almost incoherently, finally deciding to move onto her back and look at her properly with a tired look in her eyes. It'd been this way for a while, she'd been less and less easily awoken from her sleep, and was more sluggish than usual. Odd, but Khaak tries not to dwell on the behavior, "What was it you said, you ran on Rishi time?"

"Rishi time only applies to times when you're not needed elsewhere, 'ana." Khaak responds, laying back down against her will. Gently pushing Lana back onto her side and then flush against her, she kisses her softly. An almost pained grin crosses the pale woman's face, leaning into the welcome touch, "Haven't you got places to be?"

"I suppose." She answers, still not exactly either awake or responsive. A visible shiver runs through her body, and she buries her head into the crook of Khaak's neck. Inconspicously, she lifts the strap of her tank top, feeling the brushes of exhaustion against her consciouness. Lana was not going to lull her to sleep again, but there were other things that they could get up to in bed if that's where she wanted to stay. Khaak didn't have anywhere important to be, and the way she was acting, nor did her wife, "They can be taken care of another day."

But after a few moments, when Lana still doesn't elaborate upon her answer, Khaak is actually rather curious -- and concerned. Yes, she was typically quiet anyways (she preferred actions over words, something that took Khaak a while to get used to) but her long undercover mission to Rishi and subsequently to Yavin left Khaak nervous about the Sith's mental state right then. Yes, she was jittery person by nature, but she'd deeply missed her wife and the anxiety that went along with never knowing if she was alive until a few months prior. The Kaasian apartment was too empty without her presence, and there'd been at least three times officials had come to the door asking where her 'Master' was. 

She'd shot one of them in the leg for that comment alone. Another almost kicked her out of her _own_ home for being a slave without a Master in one of the most expensive apartments in the City. The next, nearly lost an eye for assuming she had broken in and entered. As soon as he'd drawn his pitiful holdout blaster, Khaak had shot him in the arm and sent him crying back to his mother, surely.

Damn Imperials were stupid and weak. At least the meager, civilian police force in the Black Sun sector had more backbone than the Captains in the force here. Lana hadn't been happy about it when someone at the fucking Sith Sanctum had told her about the infractions shortly before Khaak had managed to skirt the issue for a week or two. It wasn't the first time people had commented on her race, but it was the first time without Lana that she wouldn't hold her tongue.

Spending every moment she had with her now meant everything to her, yet she'd been so withdrawn since she'd returned. Khaak had been filled in about the high profile allies that their little coalition had acquired while watching her do her dark magic healing routine, though she was still absolutely pissed that to 'keep her out of harm's way' Lana had decided to keep her in the dark until they landed on Yavin, and then kept her off the mission entirely by her request. (She'd even attempted to land at the space station, and had been denied access by an esteemed 'Lord Beniko'. She considered shooting the operator through the holo, but resigned to sit at home like a child in timeout as not to 'bother' Lana any further) She most literally could not help being terrified for Lana's safety the entire time without a word for so long (two damn **years** ), and even if they both went down (stars help her if someone killed the love of her life) one, Khaak would want to go down in a blaze of glory against some ancient evil, and two, with her Sith Lord by her side. Not waiting in atmo to hear whether she was dead from some stupid SIS agent, or worse, a pansy of a Jedi.

Stupid _Theron Shan_ got to be by her side for two years, but as soon as Khaak offered to go anywhere it was 'too dangerous' and 'a horribly stupid decision to make' and 'self-destructive'. When Theron did it, it 'brave' and 'self-sacrificing'. All said through gritted teeth, as if considering if he even really deserved the compliment, but it was apparently well-deserved and earned from the tone of voice. Khaak did pout about it for a long while, yes, but Lana made a good argument about not pitting herself against an agent. A Republic one at that.

Khaak didn't have anyone on Dromound Kaas other than Lana.

Khaak didn't have anyone in her immediate life other than Lana.

Her life _was_ Lana.

What she would do without her, she isn't sure. Drift aimlessly back into the cosmos, surely. Probably drink herself into a coma within the first three years, tops. Where the Clarity would go after she was gone, she's unsure. The Sith was her anchor, as much as she didn't want to believe it. As much as she was Miss Independent, she was Mrs. Beniko first. She'd gotten attached, and she'd though this was finally it. Finally where she sat down somewhere. Somewhere she at least felt safe, felt she could let her guard down for good this time.

Why couldn't she have come back sooner?

Why couldn't she have brought her along?

_Why was a blasted **mission** more important than her?_

"Lana..." Khaak fake whines, pushing down her growing apprehension in favor of admiring the other woman, "I've got upgrades to do on the _Clarity_ today. It'd be a lot more fun to do with you by my side." That was only a partial lie, her small freighter ship didn't need any fixing up at the time being, but having Lana on the ship to lift the things she wasn't able to was always a good help, and at times, a fun distraction. It was never just 'a few upgrades' or 'a few things' to fix. It was their way of indiscreetly letting the other know they wanted time alone to bond with each other, "We could be on Nar Shaddaa within the hour, be back by the week starts. Get up to things I haven't done since I got off that slimeball."

"No thank you, love. Maybe another day." Lana answers darkly, rolling back over. It's an attempt to get Khaak off her case (she should know the tone, she's done it to quite a few other handsy Imperials in her day), and Khaak tries not to make her distaste at the decision known rather unsuccessfully. The other woman is apologetic at the very least once she sees her wife's reaction, a regretful smile on her face, "I apologize if I come off as lethargic or apathetic, I promise I'll make up for it sometime or the other."

"You've been over working yourself since you got back, 'ana. We don't even have to land on any planet, we could just fly around for a few hours." Khaak responds, gently rubbing a hand over the small of her back as Lana looks up at her with mild annoyance. Ignoring it, she continues on anyway, "You like flying with me, don't you? It'd get your mind off this mess for a while, you'll feel better that way."

"I have work to get done later. I just need a few hours more and we can go over to the Sanctum together later if you wish." Lana answers. Khaak shivers at the thought, she had a special hatred for the Sith headquarters. An indescribable cold was always invading her bones, and no matter how many layers she threw on it would always be there. At least on the _Clarity_ she and Lana would be alone, talking about sweet nothings, nowhere to be and no one to bother them. In her office there was always the chance they'd be interrupted by someone, a well-hidden disgusted look if they were holding hands. Khaak stopped the little touches here and there within the year she'd arrived on Dromound Kaas, it made her self-conscious. Typically from the Council, trying to figure what to do with Arkous' old affairs, but often these little trips turned into little more than excursions where Khaak would have to entertain herself as if she were Lana's child instead of a partner. No one treated her as much more than a decorative object, some would ask her name if they were so curious. One of the Amarillis' (there were six of them, the Wrath, her parents and then her three siblings of varying ages), she thinks the oldest brother often came by and worked extensively on reports based upon Yavin.

She was continually shoved to a corner for hours at a time, and even the fanciful dates out on the City didn't ever fix that. Lana was trying, she knew that. Before her, she wasn't sure Lana had even dated anyone before, so it was a learning process for both of them. Khaak had to slow down the progression of their relationship, and that was okay. But after so long, she would've thought Lana would've caught on she didn't enjoy being treated like this, "We could eat at that restaurant you like afterwards if you're so inclined."

" _Right._ " It comes off colder than it should as a recoil, and Lana's concern is written all over her face after she says it. She knows that she shouldn't be angry, Lana came back in one piece. It's more than she could've ever asked for, especially with the odd details of the mission. But it's been this way for months since she came back from Yavin, and her heart feels emptier than it did when she was gone. Yes, now she saw her everyday physically instead of over the holo, but it felt like she wanted to be even less known that she was while she was undercover. Working long hours at the Sanctum, rarely ever interested in running off anywhere like she was when they were first married. Khaak doesn't even bother going up to her office on her own anymore. She can accept that she's Sith and he's busy, but she did at least think Lana would leave time for _them_. To keep them as an us, not just a Lana and a Khaak.

It was impossible to know what she was walking into on the best of days. A Lana who needed her, or a Lana who could get by without her.

Khaak hated there was even an option.

Hated there was even a chance Lana might say she didn't need her anymore. Yes, she was gutter trash, alien trash by Kaasian standards, but she could always rely on Lana being by her side and never giving into the stereotypes.

But here she was, trusting someone she'd known for maybe two years over Khaak. Willing to go into hiding for years with him. She regrets even the thought, but she can't help but wonder if more happened between Shan and her. Wondered if there was some stupid fling between them that Lana was willing to throw everything away for.

She wishes these thoughts would just stop for two seconds. That she could be like every other Sith spouse and just accept things the way they happened. But that wasn't how Khaak was no matter how much she wished it. Neither of them blindly just _trusted_ people, and she's afraid that it might put a real wrench into things.

Sliding off the bed, she yanks the tank top off with more force than is really necessary. It pulls up on her lekku painfully, and she grits her teeth in pain, a growl building in her throat, "I can do it _all_ on my own."

A moment passes, Lana sighs frustratedly from behind her, maybe observing her actions. This wasn't going to end well, but Khaak doesn't care now. She's just as frustrated, maybe more, and Khaak deserves to be able to go through her own emotions without being yelled at for it-- right? If Lana doesn't care, then why should she?

"Now you're beginning to sound like Theron." The bed shifts and creaks under Lana's weight as she says it, chastisting her for her out of place actions. Khaak moves further away to the dresser that held most of her clothes. She roughly pulls it open at the mention of the name. Khaak doesn't even want to be compared to the stupid agent, and then slides an undershirt on, yanking her lekku out from under the shirt. A light, tight leatheris flight shirt over it, "There's no reason to be sarcastic or withdrawn."

"No reason at all." Khaak mirrors her, though she says it as a growl without even realizing it. Why is she even getting this upset about all of it? Most of this wasn't her situation anyways, she wasn't Sith, she didn't know Marr and had only known Arkous in passing. She was just a free trader from a dirty sector on Nar Shaddaa who'd gotten unbelievably lucky by marrying into a powerful society. She'd always struggled, never having enough credits, never being pretty enough or smart enough or strong enough. Now she was struggling to keep her own wife from self-destructive actions, and trying to keep her marriage firmly out of the hands of her self-doubt.

She almost has her trousers on, moving over to the bedroom door to slide on her boots when she can hear Lana moving towards her. Khaak tries to calm her racing heart, tries to convince herself that Lana's ineptness at even concerning herself with the possible fact that someone did care, that someone was at home waiting for her, that someone wanted her back as soon as possible, that someone did need her, hadn't flown out the viewport.

There are too many parallels to her own family. Too many parallels to the people that tried to take the Clarity from her. They tried to keep her safe, tried to keep her locked in a poorly built cell of security, tried to keep her a child forever. Now it's someone trying to make her independent in the worst way possible. Forcing her to come to terms with her demons, that have unfortunately learned how to swim through the worst of storms.

She's understandably pissed.

_Right?_

"Khaak...please. There are things I simply can not do for you right now, there are things beyond your understanding I can't even decipher myself." Lana pauses, leaning against her back for support, "I know I've been gone for a long time, and I apologize for that."

"Do you?" It comes out as a rough whisper, Khaak turns her head over her shoulder, still careful enough that she doesn't accidentally hit her with her lekku, "Are you really sorry, Lana? For putting me through all of that?"

"I-" She starts, but Khaak doesn't let her finish. Won't let her finish. Can't let her finish. If she just bows down and rolls over again, this conversation will be closed off again. And if it's closed off, she can forget about ever getting her wife back.

"Lana I waited for two years for even a _word_ from you. I trusted your life in the hands of a man from the opposite faction, trusted that you'd come back to me whole, and you brushed me off as soon as I wanted to come down and help you! Those two years were a living hell for me, it was like being all alone on the _Clarity_ again, but instead all I had were memories of you. All I had were old holos, your clothes, everywhere you used to be! All in favor of what, some stupid fucking SIS agent?!" Khaak whips around fast, a grimace on her lips as her lekku smack the blast door anyways. If she did have hair, she would've been yanking on it by now, "Now you're back and trying to act like nothing has changed, but you were the one who changed!"

"You don't need to yell, Khaak." Lana answers, her gaze darkening as her tone hardens. She's still terribly intimidating in her dark colored sleep clothing, and her hair mussed. But for now Khaak doesn't have a reign on her emotions, she couldn't care less if she was magically the damned Emperor staring her down with lightning at her fingertips, she would not be quieted again. It's all tumbling out, and screw if Lana wanted to hear it or not, "If you had an issue-"

" _'I should've just told you'._ Do you know just how well that worked out on this front, Lana? Do you know how many times you told me to go home and wait? How many times I did? How many times I had to chase away people who wanted to take me away because I was an alien in one of the most expensive apartments in Kaas City?" She balls a fist, not entirely sure she even wants to hear the rest of Lana's argument. Khaak doesn't want to hurt Lana, and she's not going to, but it would be a firm lie if she said she wasn't going to punch something once she got out of here. She's already heard most of it time and time again, and she isn't going to be shut down again, no matter how childish she seems, "How many times I was terrified you were dead, or worse?!"

"Don't throw yourself into a tantrum, Khaak. I had a mission to complete, and at the risk of seeming apathetic, you had my approval to stay here through my absence. Whatever they did was illegal." She answers, raising her voice to meet Khaak's tone. It wasn't unusual, but she flinches at the change in volume anyways, possibly instinctively, "The Empire was under attack, and I was going to fight for it. I had access to Arkous' files long before they did, I had to fight Revan before he killed us all."

"What about us!? Were you going to fight for us too? Or was this mission and your damned faction more important than what we have?!" She barked. Khaak wasn't stupid, she knew the Empire always came first because Lana was Sith first and foremost. She had grown up a drifter, never tied to one faction or the other. She traded with the highest bidder, not the most morally close to her own actions. She always tried her best to understand the nationalism that most on Dromound Kaas and Lana felt. But she can't help feeling hurt because of it, fuck her original faction and what they asked of her. She couldn't just dedicate her life to her and then turn away as soon as a mission got tough, "Your damned Empire was worth keeping me away from you when you knew I needed you?"

"I wasn't going to let you run out there and risk your life like you always do! That's what I was aiming to do before you tried to shove yourself into a literal conspiracy!" Lana contended back, "This wasn't your war to fight, it was mine!"

"I wanted to fight! I wanted to fight by your side, I wanted to be with you and you denied me at every turn! Your so-called protection was going to get you killed. Sure you came back alive, but that doesn't mean you can just forget about the fact that you left me here! You left me alone, knowing I needed you, knowing that I love you, and yet you turned your back on me, just like you do everyone else!" Khaak can feel herself cracking again, can feel her true colors shining through again. There were many Lana often turned her back on, and while Khaak felt bad about it most of time, she could understand. This, she couldn't and wouldn't. "Lana, what the hell do I mean to you, if not a partner next to you in battle, and in life?"

"You're blowing this out of proportion, Khaak." Lana claims stoically, crossing her arms, "It was one mission. And I'm back now. I'm here for _you._ "

"You're more distracted than you've ever been. You work and work and work and you throw credits at me as if that'll fix the problem! You look at me as if I'm an inconvience, as if I'm nothing but a friend rather than your _wife_!" Her voice cracks on the last word, and if she didn't know better, she'd say she were about to start crying. But she's not, she's about to fight someone, and thank the stars she didn't have the Force or something would've broken as she tries not to scream in frustration, "I'm not throwing a tantrum, **_Lord Beniko_** , I'm letting you know how I feel about the shit you've pulled with me and _I'm not standing for it anymore!_ " Khaak snaps, a shrill yell escaping her.

Lana's dumbfounded for a moment, taken completely aback as her eyes widen. She's visibly surprised, shocked with her reaction. But her fixed gaze doesn't waver, and she sets her lips in a thin line before responding, "Please. Continue berating me for protecting you. Continue telling me I didn't have your best interests in mind. Continue blaming me for putting your life first. As if I didn't want you alive to come home to, because apparently I don't know any better, _Captain_." Lana exaggerated, clearly frustrated. Khaak winces at the title, Lana hadn't called her Captain in that connotation in years.

"I-Lana I wanted to help! I wanted to be there for you, and you shoved me away. You let the Wrath and Nox fight by your side, but not me. Not the one who knows you best, but instead your fuckin' Sith friends. Is that how much I mean to you?!" Nox, Marr and the Wrath got to fight by her side, and what for? Why did they get that privelege, and not her? There were always going to be lingering thoughts of self-doubt when she compared herself to the force-sensitives that were around her, but this was just beginning to prove the worst of her fears. She wasn't good enough for a lot of things for a multitude of reasons, but not being some eternally powerful warrior wasn't one of them, "Sorry I can't lift a box two times my own weight with some power I'm not pre-disposed to, but it doesn't mean I can't protect you!"

"Khaak, I couldn't care less if you wielded the Force as I did. I didn't give myself up to you because you were force blind, I gave myself up to you because I care for you! If Revan took you from me, if the Emperor took you from me, I don't know what I would do without you." Lana quiets, unable to meet her eyes.

"What was I supposed to do without you?!" Khaak finishes, throwing her hands up in exasperation, "If we go down, we go down together Lana. It's in sickness and in health and 'till death does us part. It's **_not_** until you get tired of working with me, it's **_not_** until you decide you're too good to be working with me, and it's sure as hell _not until you find some Sith partner that's better than me!_ "

"There _isn't_ anyone better than you! Revan nearly killed the Wrath, one of the strongest Sith amongst us, and left us all with scars we'll never get rid of. If you'd been the one lying in a medbay bed, I don't know what I would've done. If I'd see you sprawled out in the jungle, eyes lolled back into your head and your own blood pooling out around you, you don't even understand the lengths I would go to enact revenge on your death!" Khaak doesn't think she's ever moved Lana to tears in the years that they've known each other, but the way her voice is wavering she's afraid she may have finally done it. And not in a good way either, "I could not risk your life for something I signed up for, Khaak, and I never will. Be angry if you will, but Theron had nothing to do with this! I doubt he even knows you exist!"

For a moment, she's offended. Heavily. By the fact Lana hadn't even bothered telling her apparent confidant she was married. That she hadn't seen her as important enough to tell him about her, that she was happy with her wife. But then, she stops, pausing to look at her broken form. Her wife is exhausted, and she hasn't slept properly since she's been back, tossing and turning and mumbling in her sleep. Lana has just been through maybe the two worst years of her life, hiding her true identity and living on Rishi of all places. Most of what she'd encountered was still a mystery to Khaak, lots of things simply hadn't been disclosed just yet. That worries her, maybe there was something Lana had seen that she wasn't able to get out of her head. Something the Emperor had done to her that Khaak wouldn't ever even begin to imagine.Maybe Khaak is being unfair, maybe her emotions have been invalidated again. Maybe she's overreacting unnecessarily. Something about Theron still bothers her, but he did his job and didn't get her wife killed while she was with him. That was all she could've asked for, especially for someone related to two higher-ups in the Republic.

"You're _not_ invulnerable, Lana. I know that against all the odds, Sith can die just as much as us force blind can." Khaak whispers, staring at a fixed point in the distance. Their lived-in bedroom, that has seen many quiet nights with soft holos playing, loud nights where neither of them want to do anything even close to sleeping, bad days where they can't be bothered to get out of bed, good days where they stay in each other's embrace as long as their responsibilities allow them, stormy days where they yell at each other and can barely look at the other person. 

Like today.

The rain is always in the background, the pittering and pattering of the raindrops against the transparisteel as she tries to formulate words to describe how she's feeling, "Maybe it isn't as easy to understand from your point of view, strong as hell, but some wild blaster shot could take any of us, including you. Someday your fancy force healing isn't going to be able to bring you back like it did now. No one is taking you from me again, not even Marr himself."

Lana is quiet, possibly pondering upon her response, and Khaak takes it as a pass to continue, "Yeah, I am sorry for yelling at you. That wasn't fair of me. But I'm not just going to roll over and--I don't know just let you keep risking your life like this and say nothing, pretend everything is okay." Khaak lifts her head again, but closes the distance between them and gently lifts Lana's head to look at her, "I'm not asking for you to give all of this up, I know the promotion to Minister wasn't given lightly. I'm proud of you for it, and I hope you continue earning what you deserve. But I'm asking you to never forget about me like this again. You'll always have me, and I don't want you to forget that."

"I'd never forget you." Lana whispers, eyes rimmed a light pink, "I thought I was protecting you by keeping you here. There were forces at work that I barely understood, much less wanted to put you through. It was never any ploy to rid myself of you, love. For that, I am sorry. Everything with the Emperor, and then the Revanites...I suppose I was trying to do it all myself again. I thought I could do it all myself."

"You tend to do that." Khaak softly chuckles, scratching the back of her neck. In a way, she isn't wrong, Lana tended to take everything on by herself even when it wasn't necessary. That was just how she was, and no argument would get her to stand down immediately, "Lana, I'd go to the ends of the galaxy and back for you, hell I'd stare the Emperor down and flip him off if that's what it took to keep you alive."

Lana raises an eyebrow, possibly amused with the image and thought, before a gentle smile takes the place of the small frown that had been on her lips, "I do hope it never comes to that, because I would never doubt that you would do such a thing."

"For you? Nothing is impossible." She hugs the shorter woman, laying her head on her shoulder. Possibly it's a little tighter than it needs to be, but Khaak needs her, needs to know she's here, that she's back again. "I'm sorry I was angry, I said things I shouldn't have said. It wasn't fair of me to get frustrated like that, especially at you. Everything you do to keep me here, I appreciate more than you know."

"It was partially my own fault. I left you in the dark for so long without considering how you'd feel about it. I shouldn't have assumed everything was okay here," Lana answers, hugging her back, "It wasn't fair of me to think you'd simply be okay with me being gone for so long."

"I'm not asking to be part of every little Sith thing you do, but maybe let me in on some things? I want to help as much as I can, even if I don't entirely understand. Hell, I'd make a shitty Imperial agent, but I'm sure I could learn." Khaak pulls away from her, still with an arm wrapped around her waist, "I don't want you as stressed as you are now. It isn't all work and no play, 'ana."

"I-" Lana pauses, seeming as if she wants to continue but can't figure how to, "The Emperor isn't dead. Not like how we assumed he was. He's alive, and surely planning something horrid for the rest of the galaxy. The Sith are on high alert, the higher-ups in Council are getting antsy and much too quiet. That includes me. We don't know what's coming next, so we have to stay on top of it all. Especially with me as Minister of Intelligence now, taking a day off isn't exactly something I _can_ do, love. Not with the current state of the galaxy."

Shit, Khaak didn't know that part. She's beginning to think any happiness she had before was all a cover up for what was really happening behind the scenes with this new job of her's.

"Yeah...um, can't Lord Amarillis help you with that?" Khaak questions, pulling a few memories out. She wants this fixed, and now, "He screws around with Intelligence from time to time, right? Couldn't he take the mantle for a few days?"

"Not in the way you're thinking. I could surely use his help, but he has his own problems to deal with, especially with his estate the way it is." Lana looks thoughtful for a moment, considering before flickering her glance back up to Khaak, "I have a few other assets I could acquire for this investigation, surely it will get solved soon enough." With a raise of her eyebrow, Lana smiles gently, "And I promise that this time, you can help, love."

"Good, no running off to fight ancient evils without me again, okay?" Khaak asks, pressing a kiss to her lips that Lana leans into, "Two heads are always better than one."

Possibly unnecessarily, both women are still uneasy after this argument. It isn't obvious at first glance, even they've convinced themselves that all is well again. As if nothing has happened. Lana remains at their small apartment more often than not, Khaak is less ready to immediately run off and fight for something she doesn't fully understand. But Lana still hides quite a bit from Khaak, she can tell. Khaak continues to try and push down her true emotions, if only to conform to the mold she's accidentally made for herself to keep Lana around. It has only been the eye of the storm passing overhead, and another is brewing just off the coast. Neither wants to admit they've simply put a bandage over something that has been bleeding for years.

When they do eventually get the call that something horrible is going down on Ziost early one morning, there's a look in Lana's eyes that Khaak won't ever forget. There's another moment when they're flying back over the Sith Intelligence headquarters that Khaak considers that Lana may throw herself back into this and forget about her for real this time. That is mission may be the end all be all if Khaak doesn't do something about it. Firmly, she argues with the 'Keeper' (there isn't a single person in Intelligence who answers to a real name, and that's annoying as it is) and her wife to at least fly her down to the surface and stay on the space station in case she needs her. If Lana doesn't want her on-planet, then at the very least she will stay where her wife can always reach her.

Where her wife can't forget about her.

-

**KHAAK._ZIOST.**

"So your name is _just_ Cipher Nine?" Khaak questions, turning away from the viewport of the shuttle for a moment. The woman that was accompanying them down to the surface was a piece of work that they'd met at Intelligence at Lana and Keeper's request. Blonde and deep brown skinned with hair in a tight ponytail and in a clean, crisp Imperial uniform. There are a few cybernetics here and there, and Khaak is undoubtedly impressed with just how high-tech they are. She can make a few assumptions on what each one does, but figures she might be wrong. She would've considered her pretty, should she not have been so horribly uptight. Not even a laugh at a few of jokes she cracked, simply standing at a perpetual attention nearby. Any question about Intelligence, answered indirectly, effectively skirting the entire question and returning to absolute silence. Even the little that Lana had told her about the agent was confusing and lead her around in circles. The fact she'd withstood being brainwashed and going undercover for months at a time, it was impressive but also made Khaak very happy that she never went into Sith Intelligence to follow after Lana. The addition of the modded rifle made her a bit nervous, according to Lana she was one of the most talented Cipher agents of her generation (Khaak didn't know what that meant, nor did she really care), though she posed no immediate danger to either of them. Khaak would buy that as soon as she stopped catching her golden-tinged glare every time she turned around. She felt like she was being analyzed from head to toe, or their was a file being made on her, "No nickname like...I don't know, Cara?"

Not even a snicker or a chuckle at the joke, "My designation is Cipher Nine. That is who I am, Captain." She answers, the Imperial accent thick and her expression unwavering from pissed off or possibly apathy. Nine it was then. Maybe Snips if she was feeling particularily annoyed with her.

"I have a name, y'know." Khaak deadpans back, clicking a few buttons to get them ready to land on-planet, then swiveling around in the chair and crossing one leg over the other, "You could address me that way if you're so inclined."

"Don't tease her, Khaak. That's how all Intelligence agents are." Lana responds, stepping closer to the nav controls and adjusting the belt on her armor. She holds back a low whistle in their current company, even going into battle her wife was a certain type of gorgeous that she couldn't put a name on, "I'm sure she has a name that she doesn't wish to disclose with us." Turning from her, she hands Nine a datapad, "Things are getting desperate on the surface, and while we're far from where I'd like us to be, we're safest further from the population centers."

"What about this Wrath of yours? Didn't you contact her before we got down here? Why can't she just slash a path through here for us?" Khaak asks, skirting the fact about the population centers (she'd been on Kaon during the outbreak and had just barely made it out by the skin of her teeth -- insane infections like this terrified her). When she thought of this Sith and her apparently galaxy-shattering abilities, she figured a few Emperor-controlled soldiers wouldn't be too much of a problem for her. Gritting her teeth, she makes the mental note that if the Wrath comes out of here alive but not her Sith, she might just commit an unsolicited murder.

"The Wrath is powerful, but I'm afraid the Emperor might target her first due to her inclusion in the mission on Yavin and relation to him as his currently designated Wrath. He may see her as a adversary. Her landing out here is the safest place for us to meet her and regroup our efforts to push through and finish Vitiate for good." Lana answers, as Khaak turns back around to land them properly. A look out the viewport, and Khaak hisses in a breath through her teeth at what she sees.

Khaak had been to Ziost before, had even lived here for a period of time with her old crew in tow, but it had never been destroyed like this before. Never. The buildings were crumbling, and there were so many people running about, some stationary though. No ships were taking off, no speeders that she could see. The People's Tower loomed in the distance, New Adasta was dark from what she could see. The Landing Zone was in terrible shape, speeders and transports alike crashed. As they grew closer, Khaak was surprised no one had begun shooting. It was eerie, as if they didn't belong here. As if there was always something waiting in the shadows, and something is beginning to grow the pit in her stomach. Flickering her gaze to Lana, she isn't so sure she wants to leave her alone down here with only two agents and the Wrath behind her, prior fears be damned.

"I will scout the surrounding areas, Minister. Should I run into trouble or find the Wrath, I will alert you immediately," Nine says as they land, pulling the rifle off her back and clicking the safety off. For some reason, Khaak is quick to believe that the trouble will not be Emperor-made, instead the trouble with be Nine herself. Any help would be good help, she supposes and resigns to trust Lana's life in her hands, "Agent Kovach should meet us soon, yes?"

Khaak quietly grumbles under her breath about having an actual name, and Lana lightly slaps her arm in a mock punishment that Khaak pouts at, "Yes, Cipher. You know the coordinates."

A solitary nod from the agent as the door slides open, and she's gone in the cool air, falling into nothingness with only the buzz of a stealth generator ever letting them know she was here. Pushing yet another button to close it again behind her to wait for her return, Lana lets out a shaky sigh once the blastdoors have closed, and Khaak puts a hand on her shoulder that Lana leans into, "Already I've received more reports from concerned officials and worried civillians than I can count. The Emperor is causing chaos left and right, and I'm not even entirely sure why yet. Everyone needs me all at once, as if I haven't been putting out fires as soon as they're set. Evacuation shuttles are being delayed because of attacks, more and more civillians are being turned faster than we can contain those who haven't. Stars, this really is the end of a world, and no one knows what to do about it."

"Hey, _we're_ going to save as many as we can." She says, trying to reassure the other woman and pulling Lana closer to her and pressing a kiss to her lips, knowing that this might just be the last time she sees Lana again. Lowering her voice, she leans her forehead against her wife's, her eyes going cross-eyed for just a moment before focusing again. She's warm, and with the way her eyes narrow in thought, Khaak has got to get this off her chest before Lana does something stupid. Not that she would, Lana remains one of smartest people she knows, but self-sacrificing actions were considered stupid in her book. Any action that could lead to unnecessary injury on her part was stupid, "It sounds bad, but just this once, put your life first."

"Khaak..." Lana says warningly, a skeptical look in her eyes as she leans her weight against her, "I have a job to do. Whether you like it or not,being the Minister means I protect all the Imperial lives that I can."

"That includes yours, 'ana." Khaak answers firmly, leaving no room for any more discussion on the topic, "Protect whoever the hell we're here to protect, but your's still matters most. Don't forget that, got it?"

They kiss again, and Khaak tries to imprint her taste, her smell back onto her. This mission wouldn't drag out nearly as long as Yavin did, but it doesn't mean her concern will wane. It could be as short as a few moments if as soon as she steps out of the shuttle that the Emperor takes aim for her, "I love you, Lana."

"I love you too, Khaak." Her holocom rings, breaking their eye contact as Lana pulls it off her belt, though her hand lingers in Khaak's for a moment longer, "That's Nine. I'm assuming the Wrath has made her presence known once more. I should collect her before the Emperor decides to first."

"If she's the reason you die, she'll have a lot more than just the Emperor to worry about." Khaak is less that ecstatic to see her go, and is beginning to consider that offer to go and scout for Theron herself, if not to have an excuse to still be on planet against Lana's will, "Look, I'll scout around for Theron's ship best I can, and I'll circle back for you if you need me, okay?"

"Are you sure? I know how you are with these situations, love." Lana says, stepping outside the shuttle, lightsaber hilt in hand. A concerned look fills her features instead of one of stress, possibly considering this offer. But, she resigns herself to a nervous smile, "Do not do anything that will jeopardize your survival, love."

"Huh, feel like I just had this conversation with someone I know very well. She didn't listen at first, but thankfully because I love her, I'll listen to her concerns." Lana rolls her eyes good-naturedly at the sarcastic comment, but the incessant ringing of her holocom again spurs her on to kiss her for a final time before igniting her lightsaber and disappearing into the landing zone in a flash of red, black and green. A certain sense of dread fills Khaak to the brim as she closes the blast doors and lifts off again. Essentially, she's leaving Lana on her own, to fend for herself amongst those who have already been controlled. Hell, she couldn't care less if Nine died (Khaak had half a mind to think all her responses were automated or taken straight out of some agent handbook or the other), Kovach could get himself killed and she wouldn't bat an eye. If the Emperor even touched a hair on Lana's head though, Khaak would find someway to fight the ancient Imperial entity. And shoot him.

Switching gears, she refocuses on the mission at hand. Intelligence doesn't exactly have exact information on where Theron is, but he was still on-planet, and would serve as a good distraction from the current situation. She can't stop giving lingering glances to to the landing zone where she'd left Lana, but turns away anyways. The additional Sixth Line was his idea apparently, according to the file Lana had given her, and she rolls her eyes at the mere idea of the action. If Saresh had approved it, it was no wonder the entire mission was going to shit. 

Khaak hated Leontyne Saresh. She hated a lot of people, but Saresh topped that list time and time again. Restriction after restriction on trading outside of Republic entities, and even within it once Khaak had applied for Republic citizenship. She very quickly didn't end up renewing it, and probably lost out on hundreds of thousands of credits because of the Chancellor. She didn't do trade in the core worlds that were under her jurisdiction anymore, at least not legally. At the very least with this fascist government, she could trade as she saw fit. Hell, she was pretty sure the Republic was suffering at her hands, but unlike Imperial worlds, they didn't rebel for some reason.

Considering this, she finds that it's smooth sailing for the time being over the rest of the Landing Zone and into the city district of Ziost, much too quiet, which is an an oddity in itself, typically she'd have to dodge speeder after speeder at this time of day. It isn't as if the Imperial shuttle handles oddly either. She considers what she'd even say to Theron should she see him, or even find him. A small part of her hopes he's dead or gone, just so they all can go home and let the Empire deal with it all, like they always do.

She's beginning to near New Adasta when she can feel the pit in her stomach only growing. A glance around what she can see in front of the viewport leads her to believe she's only being paranoid, and takes a shaky breath in to continue on her mission. But a look into the holocamera recording from behind her is too slow to see the aerial guns slowly turning to take aim for the small shuttle. There isn't enough time for her to speed up or even use any defensive manuevers, because the first shot hits one of the main thrusters, thrusting her in the opposite direction, and the next takes out the other. Spiraling into a free fall and losing control over the shuttle entirely, alarms are blaring, red lights are filling her vision and Khaak is panicking. The safeties weren't exactly explained before they took off, and if there is anything to protect her from dying at the hands of a blasted transport shuttle, she doesn't know. Wide-eyed and nearly ready to jump from the ship anyways, she holds onto the straps tightly. It isn't the first time she's ever crashed a ship, hell the _Clarity_ wouldn't fly properly the first few times and she gathered quite a few infractions the first few flights it had. But, this might end up being the last if she can't get out of this. The shuttle hits something hard, probably a building, throwing her off course and smacking her head against the nav dash. 

Seeing stars, all she can do now is pray that the steering still works. Flicking her hands back to it, she finds that it does, but she isn't able to pull up properly to avoid a nosedive into the ground, that much is obvious. Lights flash by the viewport in a dizzying array, screaming is growing louder and louder and louder outside the shuttle as the ground grows closer. So this was how it ended, not in a blaze of glory with her wife at her side, but instead alone, in a shuttle she couldn't even figure out how to pilot in the end, trying to find the one person she hoped to never see in person. 

A throw of the controls to the left just as she's about to hit the ground allows her two seconds more of consciousness, watching through wide eyes as she and the shuttle roll and the duracrete beneath her spinning before her. Her lekku are yanked painfully different directions as the safety straps snap entirely, throwing her forwar and another hit to the ground breaks the transparisteel, shattering it into pieces and sending her through the viewport onto the ground. Something snaps in her arm as she falls and skids to a stop on the snow covered ground.

She cries out in pain as it registers that her arm has broken in quite a few places after she tries to move. Her ankle is twisted at a despicable angle, and her head is buzzing like the static in a holcom. A string of obscenities escape her as she tries to push herself up into a sitting position, and she falls back to the ground, laying in one of the most painful positions she's ever been in. A quick stock check leaves her knowing she hasn't lost any of the offending limbs just yet. The shuttle is in horrible shape, looming over her and pieces of it scattered about nearby. With her uninjured arm, she fishes her holocom out of one of her pockets (not before biting back an animalistic scream of pain). Flicking one of the switches on the bottom, it begins to beep quietly as she slides it back to sit next to her head. Not even fifteen minutes after leaving Lana, she would need to call upon her for assistance. Chuckling, she wheezes out a laugh, oh the irony.

Glancing about, she can see why Ziost was in such desperate need of Imperial assistance. Alarms sounded everywhere, though she couldn't see anyone in her immediate vincinity. Khaak didn't know what exactly the Emperor was doing, or why, other than that he was controlling average citizens. A bout of panic fills her as her breathing quickens, wondering if he would try to control her. She hadn't seen much evidence of it just yet, but she's worried he's already in her head, trying to take her over. Trying to get her killed. Trying to kill her.

Where does she go from here, until Lana can send assistance or someone to help her? She can't move, she's essentially paralyzed. The ship is clearly non-functional, electricity dangerously close to swinging at her should she grow any closer to the now death trap. Even if she were able to get up on her own, there'd be quite a while before anyone would come for her.

Apparently, she doesn't have to wait long for her saving grace.

"Oi! This ain't a time to die." A voice shouts from somewhere nearby, clearly feminine in tone. Scrambling up from her prone position, her ankle snaps and she slides right back down to the ground, this time smacking the back of her head against the duracrete. Pain shoots up in every direction, and if she wasn't unmovable before, she is now. 

_Great going, Khaak._

At least she can clearly see who it is now, a woman bundled up in clothing that she would easily mistake for a pirate. A black market electrostaff is on her back, and is quickly sliding down from a line hooked many levels above them. Landing delicately on one boot and then the other, through her fuzzy vision Khaak can see that she's rather short, but blonde curls tumbling down her head. Her jaw and mouth are covered by a tan scarf that is the same color as the rest of her light armor, and she slowly walks up to Khaak. Using her uninjured arm to point one of her blasters at the woman as she tries to pick up the holocom that she had just dropped, the woman stops for a moment, holding her hands up in the universal 'don't shoot' position, "Hey, I don't mean any harm."

An Imperial citizen then, the accent isn't pristine Kaasian, but instead very much one of the Imperial conquered worlds, as Khaak had learned, "Step away...from the holocom."

"Gotcha there." The woman answers, whistling at the ship, "You definitely had one hell of ride into Adasta, huh?"

"You could say that." Khaak coughs, shaking her entire body as she tries to wheeze in another gasp of air. Great, she might've punctured a lung, or broken a rib. With how today was going, she wouldn't put it past fate to be doing so.

"Ships have been crashing for the last couple of days. Don't know what jurisdiction is up to, maybe trying to keep us all contained down here." The woman pulls out a kolto patch, but quirks an eyebrow up, maybe considering even what to do with it, "Jedi and Sith alike milling about everywhere. Wouldn't recommend the scenic tour if you're new here."

"Wonderful, just wonderful." Khaak rolls her eyes, as the woman grows closer. 

"I could try to get you back to my apartment. I've been locked up tight since this whole mess started, it'd be nice to have someone else around 'till I die or everything else goes to shit. Or it blows over, who knows?" The woman bend down a knee to be at eye level with Khaak, showing her a grappling gun and then snapping it back to her belt, "How's that sound?"

Khaak considers for a moment, her vision flickering back to the beeping holocom, her only connection to Lana right now, before considering the woman before her. She's an older woman, crinkles around her silver eyes and scars galore marring what she can see. Sighing, she nods solemnly, "You got a name?"

"Do you?" The woman asks back, making a move to help her up. Khaak bites her bottom lip as her ankle drags on the ground and the woman presses down a bit too hard on the injured arm. But she's up, and that's better than she had been a few moments ago. The world spins for a few minutes as she tries to get her bearings back, and nausea is beginning to creep into her senses. A concussion, probably.

"Asked you first." Khaak responds, as they experimentally try a few steps in one direction, and then the other. The woman is much smaller than she is, so it takes a bit to get used to the weight difference, but they are able to walk a few feet to where the woman had just landed only a few minutes ago.

"Asked you second." The woman says teasingly, sliding the grappling gun back out from her belt and taking aim for much higher than they are now. Odd, but Khaak doesn't immediately question their destination. Taking a bit more of her armor in, she can see that the woman isn't underprepared for this excursions, because other than the electrostaff she also has two Czerka blasters on her hips, plus a blaster rifle alongside the staff. She was packing some insane firepower.

"Fine then. Captain Beniko." She answers, knowing this kind of woman, and that chances are she wouldn't be getting the free ride up and promise of rest if she didn't disclose her title at the very least. The woman readjusts her grip on her waist at the answer, the line shooting upwards and clanging to the side of a building. The woman gently tugs on the gun, testing the strength of the line. When it doesn't snap under their weight immediately, Khaak realizes that her apartment must've been higher up in the tiers of New Adasta. Clever, very clever, "You, mysterious stranger?"

The woman laughs loud and long as they begin their slow ascent upwards, "Mysterious Stranger? Might add that to my list of titles, put that on my gravestone when I die." Her eyes are smiling, the silver turning a sterling grey in the changing lighting. She looks back down at her, "Call me Cadera."

"Alright then, _Cadera_." Khaak answers, playing with the syllables for a moment before looking out over the horizon. The view from up here would be beautiful if she didn't have to keep blinking her vision back as it swam before her. Ziost was being destroyed, and Adasta was going with it. So many people would lose their homes in this senseless destruction. Cadera is quiet the rest of the way up, maybe considering what to do next. This must've been her home, considering how well-adjusted she seemed to the chaos and her accent. Poor woman.

Once they reach the top, Khaak is pushed up first onto a balcony of sorts, slipping through a doorway and crashing to the ground. Thankfully, nothing of value is broken, and Cadera climbs over the balcony railing and closes the door behind her. Deadbolts are put back into place, and she closes the meager curtains. The low lights of the room come on, and they're in some sort of lounge.

"Nice place you've got here." Khaak comments, taking in the slightly junky room. Cadera chuckles darkly, removing the scarf from around her face. Scars mar her lips in every which of way, and she smirks.

"Welcome to the end of a world, kid."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone who follows the tumblr, would you possibly know who this mysterious Cadera is?
> 
> Sorry for the super late update though, I ended up messing around with a few storylines, and this one came out on top.


	14. Lost Cause - Ziost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tri'ama and Naji arrive on Ziost. The true fight has only just begin, and people are becoming caught in the crossfire.

**TRI'AMA_ZIOST.**

Today was already shaping up to be a bad day, Tri'ama knew that before she even left her private quarters for the forseeable future. And with her oh-so optimistic look on things, that just made this entire excursion more bleak than it really needed to be. Ziost had never been particularily off-limits for her before, but she'd received plenty of transmissions in the past days of travel advisories to the 'Gateway of the Empire'. Had Lana not been a close acquaintance of hers, she would've sent Jaesa or Scorvs off to deal with the situation and heeded the warnings to stay far away from the planet. But the way the blonde Sith had seemed so panicked over the situation, so much more different than her typical and calm disposition, Tri'ama couldn't help but feel obligated to help the new Minister of Sith Intelligence with the mission (also maybe not send her apprentice out to her premature death either; Scorvs could get himself killed for all she cared). 

Given, there was also a multitude of other things that she could be getting up to, like properly being on leave for the first time in years, but left idle and without any work to busy her, her mind would continue drifting elsewhere. Or awkwardly try to reinsert herself into the Amarillis family, and with the current climate of the estate, it was best she stay out of the issues entirely. Returning to her old apartment, which she still hadn't cleaned out post-divorce, was a no-go emotion-wise. Staying on the Fury would only remind her more of Theron, leaving her yet again idle and more likely to do something stupid. Getting caught up in yet another conspiracy, apparently, was the best choice out of all the options.

"Going in without backup? This still has to be one of her worse ideas." Tri'ama considers a lot of things to say to the Captain before she hears a sarcastic quip from the Black Ops soldier over the holo, and blocks out Quinn's next response before she can't, turning the corner from her room and remaining quiet as she leans against a door frame, pushing her hood up and around her head while intending to watch the rest of the conversation. Prim and proper as always, standing at a perpetual attention at the holocommunicator in the commons of the Fury, Malavai Quinn had unfortunately returned to her service at the firm request of Raegia (the woman wouldn't budge on her argument) so here he was, apparently fighting an losing unnecessary battle for her safety once again, "Even so, it's blasted Ziost! Alongside already being undesirable to someone such as a Sith Lord herself, it's been overrun by this new issue that's arisen. Every incoming ship has been either directed to its orbital station or deterred entirely. No one quite knows what is going on either, risking her safety is not part of my servitude, lest I remind you for the last time, Lieutenant. Married or otherwise, she is still my charge and I personally believe we're risking quite a lot for this Dark Lord, and our lives is not something I am willing to part with. Talk her out of this insanity, wouldn't you?"

Clearly bored with the entire exchange, Pierce's eyes flicker from the man to her with a smirk on his expression as she nods to him to continue, before quickly returning to his original attention, "I say that's somethin' you take up with her, Quinn, I ain't got any control over what she chooses to do. I've got just about as much pull as you do. I do suggest treadin' real lightly in your next few conversations with her though, Cap'n." And with that, Pierce sarcastically bows. He then very smartly disconnects from the terminal with a wink thrown in her direction, and Quinn runs a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated with the now dark holocommunicator as he focuses on a spot on the ground. A sigh of annoyance, maybe anger as he lifts his head again to shut off the static of the disconnected terminal. He whispers something under his breath, and picking himself up again, he swivels to see her standing only a few feet away. He jumps, but regains his composure rather quickly as he straightens his uniform top while she approaches. There's a new pin on his uniform that she takes notice of, and she supposes either Darth Amarillis or Darth Aghdani had promoted him at some point or another. She wouldn't put it past either of them, Raegia couldn't even be bothered to meet with him before shoving him back onto the Fury.

"My lord, I'm assuming you're ready to depart to the surface?" He asks, as she raises an eyebrow. She tries not to roll her eyes, reminding herself she has yet to slide the goggles on and her expressions do matter. To people she actually cares about, but she holds her metaphorical tongue anyways, "I must warn you, the reports from the planet's defense system have not improved since Lord Beniko hailed us. I still recommend reacquiring both Jaesa and Pierce for this mission to avoid any unnecessary injury." Quinn reminds her like a broken holorecorder.

"To yourself, you mean?" She asks, glad she has she her respirator on to remind her not to say anything too horrible underneath her breath, "Jaesa, Pierce and _Vette_ are all people. I gave them leave because they've been aboard the Fury for years and deserve the break. I can deal with Ziost and its troubles on my own, I only require your assistance until I can find a competent medic to replace you so Darth Amarillis doesn't ground me and the rest of my crew on Dromound Kaas for the forseeable future."

He's taken aback, clearly, as his expression changes but he covers it up very quickly and rather skillfully if he was surprised by her admittance to the real reason he was still in her service, "If that's how it must be, my lord. I'm sure you're entirely capable of what you intend to accomplish, I meant no offense." An odd glint off his cerulean eyes bring her back to a simpler time, when he grovelled at her feet like little more than an akk dog hoping for scraps. Yet again, he'd be by her side as she faced down inevitable death. Tri'ama had felt just a tad too bad about pulling her other four crewmembers from leave early (though what Jaesa and Broonmark got up to without her supervising their activities was a mystery and a half; Pierce and Vette on the other hand were with the Amarillis' to keep them from hunting her down), but the time was well-earned. Raegia, once hearing that she would be leaving again without her crew in tow, had requested a reassignment of Quinn back to her service. The premise of the request was motherly, but the forcing to take him or have the Fury grounded until she found another medic was daunting. Finding one wasn't difficult, one she trusted with her body was another story. One that she could acquire on such short notice was even worse, so she was forced to reboard the Fury with the Captain in tow. At least this time, he kept his distance, "I'm sure Minister Beniko is waiting on us, shall I set course?"

She nods offhandedly, and he disappears off back towards the cockpit. Course set as the ship lurches softly in lightspeed, she leans most of her weight against the holocommunicator. He returns back from the small room as the ship stabilizes, and he then flicks it back on as she moves to sit further away in the lounge seats. He's plotting, as she can begin to recognize the map of the Landing Zone, and as he flickers away from that, the heart of New Adasta. Plotting for what, she isn't sure. but she has noticed the change to bulkier armor instead of only his officer's uniform. What adversaries they'd face on the surface had yet to be seen, but it does comfort her a bit that Quinn can become a battle medic if required.

Lana would surely let her go when this all died down in the next few days, but she'd equipped heavier armor like Quinn anyways simply due to necessity. And fear. Mostly necessity with all the unknowns so far, but also fear of losing her life to a stray blaster shot. Or whatever the hell was down there.

Or Quinn.

She's beginning to consider this may have been another one of Raegia's plays to get her married off again, forcing her to keep her ex-husband around in the hope they'd 'fix their issues' and Tri'ama would 'get back into the right mindset'. It didn't matter that Tri'ama was still facing the demons that he'd brought back upon the Fury, only that Raegia and Yusaits wanted a legacy that would outlive them. No matter the cost. Righting Kadasha off all the military men she'd become infatuated with somehow had been a small win until Pierce had arrived, then the obsession (that the Lieutenant still didn't know about; Kadasha overtaken by the girlish crush and had yet to say anything) had been reignited, getting Typarnk settle down had been unsucessful and Scorvs...Raegia and Yusaits had surely seen the man as a lost cause after this long. After thirty one years, it was fair for her to assume her eldest brother would become little more than a hermit in the Sanctum until he died from unnatural causes.

But now, Quinn knew the rules, he knew what she would tolerate and what would get him thrown out the airlock. He kept his gaze averted from her when it was evident she no longer needed his input on anything, though it lingered just a tad too long to be a look of acknowledgement or respect. There was no need to make a mountain out of a selosian tunnel though, so she sighs and pulls out her own holocom, effectively ignoring any further interaction he may have wanted from her. Even taking her eyes off of him for just a moment makes a cold shiver run down her back as he moves away from her, surely packing up his own things on the opposite end of the ship. It still terrifies her to have him as the only one to defend her if things went inevitably wrong. She'd much rather have a blasted Jedi protecting her rather than him at this point. Most weapons she knew about were in the armory, but she wouldn't put it past him not to have a handblaster or holdout blaster on him somewhere. She wasn't that daft to assume he'd ever be unarmed, and she knew Captain Quinn like the back of her own hand.

The nightmares of being shot in the back had returned in full force when she'd seen him again, bag in hand at the foot of the ramp leading into the Fury. Having blood gush out of her with a vibroblade stabbed through her gut, all with those cold, calculating blue eyes on her the entire time while doing the deed. Baras may have been dead and gone, forgotten quickly by those of the top Sith, and Quinn may have promised to never attempt such a thing again, but her trust would never be regained that easily. And chances are, he would never have it again. Why Vette couldn't be her primary healer was beyond her, the small Twi'lek was rather good at finding injuries and treating them to the best of her abilities. Even Pierce had managed some field healing that had been rather sufficient. Broonmark had never truly been able to, and due to the many unknowns of Jaesa's powers, Tri'ama found it better to simply let her be good at what she was good at.

But apparently, Raegia could not be bothered to find one herself. She didn't trust Pierce as he was apparently little more than a military lackey with rocks for brains nor Vette due her being little more than a prized and glorified slave who didn't know any better (Raegia's words, not her's). But because she was her legal guardian and 'doting mother' she had the right to ground her on Dromound Kaas. So here they were, walking down from the Fury together, Quinn a few paces behind her as she tries to grasp the situation. Evidently, this was horribly unideal, and she was more than glad that she'd acquired all the armor plating that she had for this mission specifically. One could never be too careful, especially around traitors.

 _Thanks, mother_ , She thinks sarcastically as they pass by a transparisteel viewport, and she glances at their reflections passing in the reflective surface, _Thanks for nothing._

Most of the mission was like running around in circles, she found as she went over the mission report for the third time that morning. None of it seemed like it should be even sort of possible, with people running around as somewhat possessed. It had yet to be updated by anyone from Intelligence, and attempting to get a call in to Lana as they walked through the spaceport, she found it continued routing her to little more than just static instead of the Minister herself. The last communication she'd received from the woman had been hours ago, and were coordinates to somewhere arbitrary on the surface. After that, there was virtually nothing for her to go off of. Hadn't been the first time she'd ever flown into an operation blind (and probably would be far from the last), but she often tried to keep the list to a minimum.

Tri'ama had admittedly only been to the planet once before, and that was assisting Sith Intelligence hunting down an SIS infiltrator. Really, she was only overseeing and paying for the operation without the support of the rest of the Council. Still, she never knew whether they found the Cathar or otherwise, the rogue agent was a cunning strategist apparently and had managed avoiding being found out for whole years on end. She was going in blind to this entire operation, and while not unusual, it wasn't a situation she wanted to be playing fate with either.

She almost runs into Quinn's back before she looks up from her holocom, sliding it back into its designated holder on her belt. Frustrated because of the hold up at first, she quickly realizes that Ziost's situation is much more dire than even she'd first assumed after looking out over the orbital station, people of all races being attended to by medical workers. There was clearly not enough personnel, the few that weren't as injured attempting to help alongside them. Holocoms were beeping incessantly, the arrival board was glitching every few moments with ominous lighting. There were ships scheduled to be coming in every few minutes, but every few glitches appeared for them to be cancelled before being righted again. What was going on was anyone's guess, but anyone that was trapped down there...chances were that they wouldn't be returning before Vitiate took ahold of them, turning them into his vicious puppets.

Her heart picks up the pace at the thought.

What was keeping Vitiate from taking her? Or possibly less worse, taking Quinn? Why were some unaffected, and others driven to their wit's end?

What was he after, all these months after the events of Yavin IV? The Hero of Tython maybe, for weakening him so severely? In that case, wouldn't Lana and the rest of Sith Intelligence be searching for him instead of wandering aimlessly on-planet? It couldn't have been Lana herself (as rude as it sounded, she doubted Vitiate would be after little more than a Lord, tied to Arkous or otherwise), and it shouldn't have been her. Other than defeating Revan and attempting to keep him dormant for many more years, they hadn't be directly responsible for anything he'd suffered in the past months. And she was his Wrath, as far as she was still concerned. Killing her would surely be a break of some protocol, and the Empire and Vitiate himself would suffer from the loss of their precious Wrath.

She hoped.

"Oi! 'Less you're here to help, I suggest gettin' lost." A scruffy black and white Cathar male says in a deep and thick Ziosti accent, buff arms crossed across his chest with loose pieces of armor over the undersuit that matches his fur tone, "Last transports came in a few hours ago. Results were less than stellar, as you can see." He answers, gesturing to those lying about on the ground and groans the sound from them. Tri'ama tries not flinch as she catches a glimpse of someone -- no a _corpse_ on a stretcher, their face pale and body unmoving as other assistants cover them, "Hate to see that happen to you, girlie."

Ziost wasn't just a battle against an unknown force. It was an entire massacre of the Ziosti people. As much as she didn't feel bad for them, she still was curious if people were taking advantage of the chaos and maiming others to survive, or if this was the product of Vitiate's reign over the planet. The people who had to fight their family members and their loved ones to even have a chance at evacuation, those who'd been possessed themselves. She quivers at the thought of having someone in her head. Someone controlling her thoughts, her every action.

"Do you know who you're talking to?" Quinn asks before Tri'ama can even open her mouth, and she groans inwardly at the overly defensive tone in his voice. The Cathar man chuckles darkly, raising an eyebrow.

"Nope. And don't care much either, I'm gettin' paid to treat folks and keep people off the station 'till all this dies down, not to deal with little Imperial _pricks_." He answers, his white canines evident over his smirk. He looks shocked for a moment after he catches a glimpse of her, a hand over his mouth, "Oh no, what are you going to do to me Lieutenant? _Arrest_ me? Like to see you try, I don't live under Imperial jurisdiction as of now." He responds with a laugh, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Quinn is speechless at the nonsensical taunt, still trying to formulate a response, an eye twitching at the mis-read assignment, "I suggest you show the Wrath of the Empire some respect." He answers after a moment, not bothering to correct him.

The Cathar's green eyes move from him to her, analyzing her up and down before scoffing, " _Right_. And I'm the Hero of Tython. I ain't risking any of these pilots to go back down to that hellscape. Barely made it off myself, and as much as I'm considering sending you right back out that airlock without your fancy ship, I'm still morally obligated to make you stay far away from this planet."

Rolling her eyes, Tri'ama pushes past Quinn to stand directly in front of the man, sizing him up herself. He doesn't budge in the change of position, so spying a Nautolon with a bottle of water a few feet behind, she shatters their glass with a quick explosion of the Force, a shriek erupting from the patient and medical worker, water splashing to the ground. He whips his head around to witness, the back of clothes entirely soaked before growling, "Hey! We needed that!"

"And I need to get down the surface. I suggest you don't continue to deny me that." Tri'ama answers, a look of disbelief on the Cathar's face, "There are other, much pricier things I'd suggest you wouldn't want to lose should you do so, yes?"

His argumentative state is diminishing, and she knows that she's won now. He throws down his hands to his side in defeat, a sigh escaping him, "Fine, you win Sith. Head down to the surface all you want, but I ain't sending any of our pilots with you. Too much of a risk to the system."

"Perfectly fine. I can pilot the transport down myself." Tri'ama answers. As if that'd keep her from going anywhere, he was dead wrong. Still, she picks up another matter that passes through her consciousness as she eyes one of the smaller transport ships aboard the orbital station out of the corner of her eye, "A certain Sith Lord Beniko, has she passed through this station as of late?"

"Lord Beniko?" The Cathar considers for a moment, still wary of her but willing to comply as he genuinely thinks on the matter, "Blonde woman, travelling with a Twi'lek that was way too upbeat for where she was going and a human woman I think was with Intelligence?"

The others, she couldn't vouch for, but the description matched the Minister's. She'd have to do some other digging on the Twi'lek, though she figured Lana wouldn't have gone without someone else from her new division. The backup was evidently necessary for any excursion to the planet, so she nods, "Yes. I'm assuming that means she passed through onto the surface a few hours ago?"

"She did, yes. A couple hours after that, actually about an hour before you another force user passed through, 'long with another Twi'lek. Also blonde under some white hood like your's." The Cathar shakes his head as he recollects the meeting, "Dunno why ya'll want to go down there instead of stay up here, but apparently I ain't in the right for questioning it.Well, that's all I can tell you about anyone of note in here, _Wrath_. Have fun down there, hope I see you again." His tone clearly makes it sound like he could not care less if she and Quinn actually returned or not, and she can kind of understand with the state of medical procedures occurring around them. Not that she does excuse his behavior towards her, but she digresses. There are more important matters to attend to. This ill-mannered Cathar happened not to be one of them.

Tri'ama doesn't bother bidding him a farewell as they walk away from him, boarding the shuttle. She allows Quinn to work his magic at the controls as she takes her dutiful place next to him, scanning the skyline at the off-white planet on the horizon. His vision flickers to her every few moments, eyes full of apprehension, before finally focusing on the task at hand.

Surely he wonders how things would've been, had Baras not been a deciding factor. Flexing her hand, she's sure her finger would still be heavy with a ring. She'd have learned to fly by now, at least.

She steels her eyes forward. To reminisce was one thing, to lust after something one no longer needed or wanted, was another.

-

The first thing that Tri'ama notices about the plagued planet once they touch down is just how quiet it is on Ziost when she opens the doors out into the landscape. With how the reports painted things, she thought she'd at least hear offhanded screams and shouts of violence and whatnot, but not even a blaster shot paints the sky as the pair departs the transport vessel. Holding out a hand to stop Quinn and make him wait before he continues on into the hellscape, she pulls her holocom from her belt and rereads over the coordinates Lana had sent her for what feels like the the thousandth time today. Not far away, but it's eerily empty around where they've landed. It makes her uneasy. No one is milling about, and somehow that scarier than running into someone out here. She doesn't immediately want to leave the faux safety of the ship, fearing someone is simply hiding in the shadows.

Trudging her way through the snow with Quinn's light footsteps behind her toward the bunker, Tri'ama feels her signature buzzing with force energy, bouncing off of her and everything around her. She's hypersensitive to everything, feeling where cloth meets skin, even the microscopic prickles of cold against her exposed face. As if the force is living about her, making her more aware, more powerful. The wind picks up at this thought, throwing her hood off her head entirely and her hair whipping around in a whirlwind of it's own. Ziost is in it's winter cycle, Life Day is rapidly approaching, as the expensive decorations in the heart of Kaas City reminded it's citizens annually. Her heart clenches, these people are supposed to be celebrating with family, not running for their lives from their family. Poor or not, they were still Imperial citizens, and she had a duty to them.

Poor timing, but she remembers just then that she has taken the holiday for granted and hasn't acquired anyone anything just yet. The situation is a dark reminder for her to hold what she has dear, lest she and her crew, her _family_ become victims of this mass murder. Whether the Emperor will become dissatisfied here and become bored of Ziost, has to be seen. She's worried he may jump to other planets, to start the entire thing over again somewhere else, more populated. More important to her, that is.

Pushing her gold tinted goggles up and off her eyes onto her forehead, she peers inside the bunker's open blast doors, both lightsabers lit with a crimson red. A dark light above her sparks, and if her anxiety couldn't jump any further, it did in that moment as she took in her surroundings. Someone else was here, or had been here recently. Feeling out in the Force, she can feel whispers of something familiar -- but it isn't as sharp as she remembers Lana's being. Softer...but more mysterious. That of someone who didn't want to be found, or known. Another lingers behind it, one she had definitely felt before. Sharp, regretful. But also angry, frightened. Not force-sensitive, yet one who made themselves known.

The question was, who was it? It couldn't have been Nox, she had some sort of Life Day party planned for later today in the City, and Aghdani wouldn't have set foot here. She remembers the mention of the two others who'd be travelling with Lana, but then she would've felt her here as well. The mention of the other Force user who'd touched down shortly before Tri'ama and Quinn had arrived reminds her to be leery. The Cathar hadn't mentioned whether they were Sith or Jedi. Not to mention the possibility they may have been mind controlled. A further look, the bunker is completely ransacked. The light isn't the only fixture that has suffered, including racks that looked like they had been used as training dummies. Crates with the with the Imperial insignia have toppled over, some broken open in a corner. How the Empire would recover, if the Empire recovered, it would take a lot of money. What supplies had been lost, what manufacturers and other important people had been lost in the siege, would never be recovered. At least not in the way they had been before everything had happened. The economy here, at the very least, would be disrupted for months, if not years. Chances are people were thinking about relocating to Dromound Kaas. If not there, then somewhere else under Imperial jurisdiction. The rulings would take months, the Fleet would see so many in limbo, so many waiting to be placed somewhere else.

If they made it off, that was.

Quietly stalking her way to the stairs, she follows it up slowly. Thoughts of murdererous force users, dark and light, soldiers or worse, civillians fill her mind as she reaches the landing, before she pauses entirely. A voice, two voices as the other responds to a question. Her eyes widen at the tone, clenching her teeth together. One sounded feminine, the other a gritty masculine voice. They quiet down as she gets closer to the top, and if she's correct, one of them has drawn a long-range weapon from the sound of the strap hitting their hand and the cocking of it in rapid succession.

She prepares herself for whatever she may find, tightening her grip on her hilts. Tri'ama and Quinn share a look, and he nods in understanding.

A shot from the weapon just as she gets a look at the messy overlook and she spirals out of the way, Quinn audibly drawing his blaster and ducking. It just narrowly misses her head, and she sends her lightsaber back towards wherever it had originated from. It hits an arc, slicing the wall behind the dark holoterminal without making contact with it's intended target. Tri'ama just barely gets a glance at the pale yellow Twi'lek with the rifle (who'd dodged the saber expertly, still firing off shots at Quinn, who returned them with his own well-placed shots) before rushing forward, targeting the person she could feel in the Force nearby with her single saber, attempting a Force leap as the other returns to her left hand and slashing at the presence. They couldn't be seen, but the signature was so familiar it was nearly painful when she focuses on it. Even so, they throw her backwards with a well-placed Force push and she skids backward on her haunches. Raising her head, she's confused for a moment. It isn't immediately obvious where they are at first, though slowly, golden tinted light reveals their form, a green doublesaber being lit at their side and blonde hair hanging in a ponytail at the base of their neck.

Their face is exposed though, and true to the Cathar's words, they were in mostly white. Something she'd tune to the Jedi with, though decked out with battle mods and plating. Squinting gently as she yanks herself back up off the ground and pulls her saber hilts back to her hands with the Force, she pauses before leaping again toward them. Tri'ama recognizes that face, and they grey eyes that reminded her of storms. The silver orbs glint with familiarity as well, and her eyes widen her stance relaxing and saber lowering, "Wrath? What in the blazes are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing, Barsen'thor." She deadpans, getting to her feet and disgniting her saber. The Twi'lek lowers his rifle, and Quinn's shots stop as well as he quickly returns to her side. He keeps his weapon drawn, as expected, "All other moral questions aside, how did you manage to get onto Imperial soil? We don't exactly hand out boarding passes like candy."

"I managed to receive clearance in my own way, to no concern of yours. I'm here to rescue Theron." The Barsen'thor responds after a moment of consideration, doing the same to her own doublesaber and hanging it back on her belt. Tri'ama tries to keep a straight face, but shock runs through her system. First at the thought of Theron being back on the same planet that she was, closer than she thought. Then one of panic, Theron was on Ziost for some reason, and someone had sent the Jedi's warden after him to bring him back to the Republic. What reasons did he have to be here in the first place, and why now? Why did he require a Jedi's rescue, if not one from his precious SIS?

"I heard that the Republic was here. Sixth Line, if my intel remains correct correct." Tri'ama muses, keeping her voice steady. Theron would of course get involved in some of the Jedi's business, his mother probably at the helm. As 'her agent' she's sure there's some responsibility he has there, "I can't imagine why. Your faction always did have the oddest responses to situations, I assume this would be no different."

"Because the Empire has such a grasp on the situation at hand, Wrath. I'm sure you weren't even aware there were Jedi here until now." Naji snaps back, setting her lips in a grimaced line.

"And I'm sure you weren't even aware your darling Jedi Order was causing trouble until now either, we're you? They've done little more than add to the issue." Tri'ama says, raising an eyebrow as she crosses her arms, "But I assume you didn't know that, did you?"

Naji recoils at the veiled insult, turning to her companion. She opens her mouth to say something else when they hear a blast door on the opposite side of the room slide open. Her heart rate rises again, drawing her sabers rapidly and rushing to stand at the edge of the overlook. Naji hesitates, but follows after her quickly, also drawing the hilt of her doublesaber. The Twi'lek holds back, curious but not afraid.

"I had foreseen your arrival, but I didn't believe it." A chilling voice says loudly, and a dimly glowing soldier clad in red and black steps out of the shadows. Tri'ama hears His voice through the man, the voice that has haunted her for no less than years. Naji's face is contorted into one of confusion, surprise maybe. Has she also heard His voice before? Is it as unfamiliar to her as it is to her companion, or to Quinn?

Has she faced Him before?

"I thought, after bearing witness to my rebirth on the Yavin moon, why? Why would you stand in the face of certain death?" Another arrives, this time in the form of a woman in Black Ops soldier armor. Her heart drops, it's nearly identical to Pierce's set. Had she not put him on leave, would he also be here? Serving his faction to his very last breath?

Tri'ama decides she doesn't want to think about that. Doesn't want to think about how easy it would be to lose everyone if she didn't do what she'd done, "You both are far from stupid. The Wrath and Barsen'thor, I know that much. Overly ambitious, perhaps. Well, regardless, I do hope you find your time on Ziost enlightening." Naji gasps, a gloved hand over her mouth as her eyes widen.

"Master Garault...no...how could they have done this to him?" Naji whisper asks, her grip tightening on her hilt. Perhaps an acquaintance of hers, yet Tri'ama can't find it in her to feel any sort of bad about it. Everyone knew the cost of war, everyone knew that no one was guranteed a life sentence. Though, had a member of the Council been in Garault's place, she could feel an inkling of emotion there. Her companion gently touches her shoulder in solidarity before he draws his rifle again.

"You'll bear witness to a world's end if you survive long enough." The Jedi answers darkly, the three people below also drawing their weapons. Green lights her vision, Naji taking a battle stance. The Jedi has a gold saber, and soon they're being shot at as Tri'ama leaps off the overlook, the force radiating off of her.

It isn't a long fight, as Tri'ama expects it to be should these really be the Emperor's pawns. She thought they would've been as strong as how they'd been when they'd been possessed initially, but both of the soldiers fall quite easily to her sabers, any former training falling away with the loss of self-control. The Master is being pelted with debris and blaster shots from above as she duels with the pair of Imperial soldiers. She doesn't feel particularily bad about it, but shoving a saber through the Imperial insignia still feels weird. It simply feels wrong. The light leaves their eyes, but so does the light red on their bodies. Their eyes are no longer pure white, instead returning to their typical colors as they loll back into their heads, blood pooling out from their wounds. Kicking the bodies with the toe of her combat boots, they remain motionless, the color returned to them properly. Death seemed to be the only escape from the Emperor's control.

Zenith, as she learns (or rather remembers, his name had been escaping her since they'd arrived) later takes the killing shot while Garault is distracted with Naji and Tri'ama's saber fighting. He topples over in a heap when it happens, both women jumping out of the way in surprise, and hitting the ground with his back as Tri'ama just barely moves out of the way. Had she not been in immediate danger, she would've had some very choice words for the Barsen'thor's sharpshooter and his choice of timing. Hopefully her sharp glance back towards the Twi'lek gets her point across sufficiently.

Right in the middle of his forehead is the entrance and exit wound, a gory sight. The same happens with this corpse, the crimson color leaving his body and his eyes returning to normal. He whispers something that Tri'ama can't make out, heaving out his words, before he takes his final breath. Naji bends down, hesitating for a moment before lowering his eyelids over his lifeless eyes. As Naji does whatever she intends to do with the dead man, Tri'ama finds that her once white robes have already had parts of it dyed an ominous red. Blood has already seeped onto them, and she pushes Quinn away, wordlessly letting him know that she hasn't actually been injured badly, that she isn't wounded enough to warrant healing. That it isn't her blood. Zenith arrives from his perch shortly after, helping the Barsen'thor stand from her kneeling position. They speak quietly for a moment, though Tri'ama isn't privy to the details of their conversation.

The clacking of more boots on the duracrete behind them at the main entrance sends Tri'ama back onto high alert, taking a protective stance over those in her charge. At the very least, these soldiers have helmets on. It keeps her conscience from reminding her that these are people, that they have stories and families and things to return to. Things they'd never see again. They begin shooting at them, and she does her best to deflect and fire back at them before someone else leaps onto the scene, a crimson lightsaber cutting through them in a flurry. One sniper can also be seen, clad in black and finishing the last soldier that had been part of their party.

When the last of them fall, Tri'ama once again disignites her sabers. Naji stands next to her, supposedly done with whatever respects she was paying. Lana Beniko had finally arrived.

"So you've arrived. Good. There's much to be done." Lana says, barely breathing hard from her last altercation. She didn't look too different from the last time that Tri'ama had seen her, though the bags under her eyes pointed her to believing her sleep had suffered since Ziost broke out. The woman behind her seems to have fared the same, simply sliding her own rifle, Imperial-issues of course, back onto her back and brushing a loose hair back into her blonde bun without another thought. A quick glance over the uniform reveals she's Imperial Intelligence, which clears up who was brought down with her. Still, it doesn't answer who the Twi'lek was, but her tone says she wouldn't appreciate questions right then, so Tri'ama buries the question for another time.

"It's good to see you again, Minister, but the Jedi are on Ziost, an Imperial homeworld no less. Odd, isn't it?." Tri'ama responds. Naji's force presence smothers her with apprehensiveness and mild annoyance as she says this, which is frustrating in itself. Another planet worth of this oddity invading her senses, overloading her conscience, she was going to die before the Emperor even got his hands around her mind.

"Yes. You don't belong here, Jedi. You shouldn't have come." Lana turns her attention to Naji, her tone hardening as Zenith crosses his arms at the accusation.

"I'm not about to start backing down from the Emperor now. And from the look of things since I touched down, I'm starting to think you could use the help." Naji responds in a tone she hadn't heard from the Consular before, "Jedi or otherwise, I don't think you're in any place to complain, Minister."

Lana isn't taken aback, or hides it very well, "Well, you're not wrong about that. As you can see, things are already out of hand." She answers, shrugging almost nonchalantly before turning back to Tri'ama, "The Jedi you fought belonged to the Sixth Line. SIS commandos who follow their own addendum to the Jedi Code, hence the name."

"'There is no contemplation, there is only duty.'" Naji says, almost breathlessly if she knew it by heart. Another time, she would have to ask what made the Sixth Line so different from the Jedi they typically met (and in her case, fought), and why so much was at stake if the Republic lost them.

"Right. Great point of view--so long as they're working for you." Another agent. Not a Twi'lek, but how many had Lana brought down with her?, "Pardon the interruption. I sent a probe droid to look into that crashed shuttle, Minister Beniko. It's empty."

Lana gives him a nod of acknowledgement at the information, "Agent Rane Kovach and Cipher Nine of Sith Intelligence. Agent Kovach has been somewhat of a rising star in Sith Intelligence here on Ziost."

"We do know Theron Shan was on that shuttle. And we know he's responsible for the Sixth Line being on Ziost in the first place." Cipher Nine says, a crisp Imperial accent accompanying the information. To be expected, of course, but again her heart jumps at the mention of his name. So he was here, but with a botched Line of Jedi who'd been unknowingly mind controlled. Tri'ama prays that he's still okay, unharmed for the time being. If not, she's not sure she wants to see him in his current state, or what she would do if she found his corpse. Cipher Nine shakes her head, perhaps in annoyance, "So far, this 'Theron' fellow has only added to our troubles. I do hope he's not here to cause more."

"Theron's here to stop the Emperor, same as me." Naji speaks up again, "Sadly, I doubt that he's just your problem anymore."

"Vitiate is not our Emperor. Not anymore." Lana responds, and Tri'ama shares the sentiment, "As you've witnessed, Vitiate is taking hold of an increasing number of soldiers and Sith. His goal continues to be the accumulation of power, Agent?"

"The dark side is strong on Ziost. Using the outpost's resources, our former Emperor can massacre the defenseless to fuel him." He sounds just as tired as his companions, if not moreso. She can imagine why, she would be too if she were working under Lana for this entire operation, already more than a week old by Intelligence standards, "The more powerful he becomes, the more people he can control. He will keep on killing until nothing is left."

A pause, as Lana receives a message a moment later, the information sinking in, "Yes, I'm on my way." An audibly frustrated sigh as she returns her attentions to the people at hand, "I'm needed everywhere, all at once. I've already lingered too long. Agent Kovach and Nine have a plan to stem the bloodshed."

The Cipher agent finishes her own listening, turning her head to Lana, "They found the shuttle, Minister. Destroyed, no body inside. It may be safe to say she's become one of them and wandered off. I told you the Emperor would target you first, I believe it's time to give up the search."

Lana's expression drops entirely now, anxiety taking over her features as she doesn't even attempt to hide or stem her real emotions anymore, "I will do no such thing. I know she's out there, she wouldn't just die like that, Nine." Both hands form a fist at her sides before she takes another breath, and bids them all a hurried if not also stressed goodbye, a finger still pressed to her ear a muttering under her breath into it. Whoever 'she' was must've been extremely important to Lana.

Kovach and Nine turn back to them, Kovach beginning, "It's an honor, my lord, for us both. Here's what we have in mind. The outpost armory is wide open right now. It's where the possessed have been getting their firepower."

"It needs to be placed on lockdown, is what the agent means." Nine finishes, a bored look on her face.

"That won't be enough to stop him, Agent." Tri'ama responds, flabbergasted at the lackluster idea. The Emperor wouldn't be stopped by some petty lockdown system, hell he had the whole planet underneath his thumb already, "You're trying to stop the flood of an ocean with only a river dam. You need to think bigger."

"It won't stop him, you're right. But we have to start somewhere." Kovach says, lowering his voice and softening his tone at the mild scolding, "Cipher Nine will stay with you to escort you there. I'll go out ahead, I'll be your eyes and ears."

Kovach leaves them with the new agent, and she draws her rifle once he's gone. She's devoid of emotion, and Naji and Tri'ama share a look, one of confusion. Her presence is empty, as if they're being sucked into a void of nothingness when she prodded at her mind, "It's an ugly hellscape out there, my lord. If you're looking for fight, you've found one. You're just in time for a showdown right in the middle of the end of a world."

"Lead the way then, Cipher." Tri'ama says, Quinn muttering under his breath before the small party steps back out into the cold. The smell of blood stings her nose from her robes and the bodies before them, even the respirator not doing enough to filter it entirely. Now staring out over the small landing zone, she can see the apocalyptic ending that everyone else did. Ships flying out, people milling about that are't even really...people. She was really facing death head on by the side of a Barsen'thor, her sniper, a Cipher agent and her ex-husband.

The galaxy always had it out of her. If it was waiting for her to snap in two and fall apart, it had another thing coming.


	15. Sins and Sinners - Ziost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Havoc Squad lands on Ziost at the request of Chancellor Saresh. As always, things never go to plan, especially with the Empire involved.

**HAKIOJKL._THE_THUNDERCLAP.**

_Fuck Leontyne Saresh._

_Fuck Theron Shan._

_Fuck the whole damn Republic while you were at it._

Hakio and her respective squad were being pulled off a very-well deserved leave to deal with what? Yet another SIS agent's fuck-up? A whole month, the longest time they'd had off, so she had to be grateful for what they did get. It could've been two days.

She was usually much more understanding about these situations, she _did_ sign up for this and she would lay down her life for the Republic any day of the week, no questions asked. But at the same time, there was a point that every soldier asked themselves 'what in the blazes did I get myself into this time?'

Today seemed like it was that day for her.

Hakio wasn't about to blow it off and run. Going AWOL was never the answer and would probably result in a hefty sentence if she even managed to make it out of the core worlds. Though she did have yet to see how and why Republic SpecForces needed to get involved on an Imperial planet. Saresh had sent them some very odd places after Garza had stepped down for the time being, and all of them were getting closer and closer to being in direct offense of the Treaty of Coruscant. Now traipsing all over Imperial territory with no regard for the loss of life that would surely result? That just absolutely stunk of trying to get them off the map entirely while their faction was in shambles. While it was, yes, an opportunity to weaken the Imperials further after what had occurred on Makeb and more recently their Emperor's reawakening according to intelligence reports, it seemed poorly thought out when she ran it through simulations. Ryean often concurred with this opinion. Saresh believed that it was the prime time to cripple the Empire and in turn, the Emperor himself. No one had spoken out against her, so here they were, a few hours out of orbit of the Imperial planet.

An absolutely outstanding plan _theoretically_ , one that she'd like to shred in real life since she was the one that had to carry it out with her own squad.

However, she also wasn't such a horrible person that she'd send the newly formed Mayhem Squad off on their own just so she could sleep a couple more hours. Ziost, from Saresh's point of view, was one of the most dangerous missions they'd handle, if not the most dangerous. Going directly onto an Imperial planet without any other SpecForce teams to back them up? Hakio could very easily see where she was coming from. A lot of the new squad that had formed under Havoc were still a little too green for her to feel comfortable about just overseeing their missions from Command even though they were all rather experienced in the field, but it was Garza's suggestion she let Jaak'lo and Vza'haria be the primary leaders of the operation. It had taking some toiling with, but eventually she gave the order.

Whatever questionable things Elin Garza had done in the past, Hakio still trusted the woman with her life. Maybe thought twice about what she said, what she advised her to do with Havoc Squad while she was on military leave (after all this time the woman still hadn't given up anything about Eclipse Squad to Command, but stepping down for some time would have to do with the current state of the galaxy), but she had yet to steer her wrong too badly just yet.

It would be good to give them a chance to shine their true colors, to see if they really were capable of leading a Republic squad with the reputation it had garnered in the past few years. Not that Hakio liked to doubt her people, but this would be a training exercise with some very real consequences if things went wrong. If they did split from Havoc in the near future, as Command would surely see fit to do, it would be nice to know which pair of hands Mayhem would be in when she wasn't overseeing them anymore.

Captain Vza'haria Atiya wasn't green -- stars she was an original member of Havoc Squad. Older than Hakio herself, for stars sake. She had years of experience that Hakio would die to get her hands on, a Mirialan sniper from the heart of Coruscant who she's sure was born with a sniper rifle in her hands. Though she was often cold, yet also calculating and easy to anger, if anyone should've been leading Havoc, it should've been Vza'haria. Yet her near-betrayal landed her with a ten year sentence and on the military blacklist until she was past her prime. The talent was surely going to go to waste in a prison cell, until Garza pulled her out only a third of the way through to rejoin the squad to track down Fuse on Tatooine. She was still technically on watch, but her service fighting Rakton gave her a chance at leading again for Havoc's sister squad, Mayhem.

Her second in command, also Lieutenant Jaak'lo Khethak was green, very green -- and it wasn't a joke at his skin color either. Yet another Mirialan, Jaak'lo had been in the military for a shorter amount of time than Hakio had been part of the original Havoc Squad before he was already being shoved promotion after promotion. He was an extremely talented covert ops soldier, and often got in and out of places that even Jonas couldn't boast about. He was actually recruited at Jonas' request, because eventually his off-the-books operations (that were, yes, successful, especially for a one man team, evidently digging up some Republic secrets that would get quite a few Colonels and Commanders in some serious trouble) were gaining the attention of the SIS and the poor kid would end up getting himself into some serious trouble if the brass found out about it. Garza had her concerns at first with his 'shoot first think later' attitude that reminded her of Aric in a way, but he'd quickly shown that his stealth generator was not just for show.

They could surely handle Ziost's mission with Xev'heng, Synntai and Ryean by their sides, but it didn't still mean that Hakio wasn't going to worry about the state of her team. Something just, doesn't sit right with her about the entire operation. Landing a direct attack on an Imperial planet? Especially in a time of panic that no one even understood? Something that had the entire Imperial faction scrambling to get it together? Forget that she was pissed that Theron Shan had dragged her into to this (effectively, he'd dragged the entire Republic into his mess from her perspective, so it was totally justified), there was about zero other reports coming in from anywhere. How quick Havoc had been contacted only a day beforehand after their last mission to Belsavis to quell an uprising, it was just plain _weird_. Saresh hadn't checked any of her sources, all that was known (or was being released to the general public -- the military who turned a blind eye to this, and all intelligence reports were either locked to her or simply weren't being shared) was that something big was going down, and a line of Jedi was in danger. Not even a basic mission report had been forwarded to her or Aric, no briefings that held any real information to it. Only that Theron Shan had lead them there without anyone's knowledge or approval, and now he was in real danger for some reason or the other. Things were way too hush-hush for it just to be an extraction mission for a single SIS agent and a handful of Jedi and not have other factors at work.

Something just didn't add up. Hakio would never say she was the smartest out of the bunch, she rarely was and often wasn't afraid to admit it when she didn't understand something, but even Vza'haria was lost on this one. There were too many unknowns for her to be gung-ho about landing. A lot of caution was to be exercised here, yet no one lived up to that expectation.

And that was just a tad bit too terrifying, being without all the answers. Uncovering things on the field had never gone well for Hakio beforehand. The cybernetics and scars that littered her body made her living proof that one extremely brief report could be the end to a soldier as you knew them.

She had no reason to believe it would now.

Without being under someone that had history with them, it wasn't as easy to get away with things, or get out of unnecessary missions. They couldn't reject a mission from up top, which was an injustice within itself, but there also wasn't much they could do about it until they landed on Ziost. Yet again they were simply pawns in the Republic's war, and for the last few missions, they were getting way worse at chess than Hakio thought they could be.

A whole building full of people, and not one person could be bothered to stop and think, hey, this might get a lot of people unnecessarily killed! We should get more intelligence before we send our top squad onto an Imperial-occupied planet!

Stars, she fucking hated working for the brass. Since Corellia, it felt like that was all they ever did. Moral or otherwise, they followed orders and dealt with the fallout from their decisions on their own. Not like she'd have the job she did now if she didn't accept the way things were, even if it earned her a lot of questions from her parents, or from her siblings after ops that went all the way right...but still made people ask a lot of questions that legally, she couldn't answer.

With a sigh, she sits down on her bed with a huff, running a hand through her short afro. Picking up her datapad off the night table, she scrolls absentmindedly through the few reports that have been received from Command, all overridden by Saresh's new order to Ziost. The day of training she'd planned while they were en route was enough to blow off steam and get the stress of the mission out of her head for a period of time. The team was improving marginally, and it was enjoyable for most involved. Tanno and Synntai had managed to make the entire thing a competition again (though Elara reminded them both multiple times that not only were they opposite genders, that they were completely different species with different skillsets physically), but the raw power they expended was enough to let Hakio sit back and let them burn themselves out. Yuun, while often quiet, was strong in his own ways without the flashy barbells and whatnot. Elara continued to remind her that though she was a medic, that did not mean she was weak or powerless.

The crew had grown since Coruscant, when it'd just been her and Aric traipsing through government regulations and conspiracies galore for the first time. How he'd managed to make every single mission insufferable, how she would do anything to get fifteen minutes away from him, if that. All her buttons had managed to be pressed by the man in the early days, and there were a lot of times she was ready to give up the mantle of CO for just three seconds of relative peace. Then came Elara, a breath of fresh air compared to the Cathar, who she'd bonded with quicker than Aric, heritage and past with the Empire entirely forgotten for their now friendship. At that point was when the Republic sat up and took notice of Jaak'lo, and he began working covertly for Command and in turn, Havoc. Fourex had become her favorite droid in the entire galaxy after Nar Shaddaa. Vza'haria and Ryean had come in on Tatooine and Alderaan respectively. Tanno on Balmorra, Xev'heng on Hoth.

How much her family had grown since then, what she'd given up for them, and what she'd gained because of them. Yes, she'd had a family beforehand, but people she could share the military life with was simply more comforting than people she only saw once every year. With a heavy heart, Hakio fingers the ring beneath her shirt, the one that hangs on a strong golden chain around her neck, typically underneath her armor. She wasn't often able to wear it properly except for during leave, but today she'd had to forgo wearing it to keep from breaking it entirely. It was one of her most important belongings, a simple silver band that still held so much meaning all these years later. It seemed so delicate, yet it'd seen her through the Battle of Ilum without shattering in two. She smirks, her _lifemate_ (it was still such an odd word to use, especially regarding that of her and Aric Jorgan, someone she couldn't even stand three years before hand, even if they had been married that long) had been so concerned about getting her something fancy and shiny that he hadn't even considered that maybe she didn't want anything like it until she mentioned her lack of interest in jewelry only a few months beforehand while they were camped out in the trenches of Balmorra. The look on his face, one of mild relief with that new knowledge. At the time, she hadn't even known he was thinking of marrying her, much less proposing to her.

Such an arbitrary concern now, about whether she'd have a pretty rock on her finger and an out-of-this galaxy wedding. All the things that became meaningless in the following months.

And here they were, about to face down yet another unknown evil. She shakes her head, there were always so many in this line of work. Well, this time it was known, it was the whole Emperor of the Sith bearing down on the galaxy again. It was never fun, and she never knew whether everyone would return to the Thunderclap again because of it. Whether she'd hear the laughter of the team's demolitionists in the cargo bay, or watch as Xev'heng and Elara honed their craft in the medbay, or even share the galley with the rowdy team ever again. Whether someone's bunk would have to be stripped, whether she'd have to attend a funeral in her rarely worn formal wear. Whether someone's weapon would never leave the weapon rack again, if a room remained dark because they weren't there.

Her grip tightens on the ring, before unhooking the necklace and sliding it off the chain to admire it in the dim light. Whether she'd ever see Aric again, was always the question in her mind when she left the Thunderclap. She'd pledged her love and life to him as her lifemate until the end of her life, but that 'to death do us part' line was always hanging over their heads like a dark cloud because of just how easily it could become reality. It was striking just a tad bit too close to home every time the words crossed her mind. There were plans in place for this kind of thing, who would get what, who would be promoted, who would lead. Who's family would have to be tracked down first to ask them the hard questions about _what to do now_.

It wouldn't make it any easier, watching as her life unraveled, either from heaven or her empty Coruscant apartment. It would leave her with less questions about what to do when he was gone, and she wouldn't be as much of a mess after it all, but she could only imagine how her mind would twist things oh so dramatically. How it would be unbearable to be anywhere that they'd been together, as she'd been by Aric's side since she could remember. To do anything without him, after finally finding the person that loved and respected her, would destroy her from the inside out.

She was still considering dropping the mission entirely. Though, she didn't know how to, they were already too close to Ziost to just drop out now. How to tell Saresh she wasn't interested in risking her life like this for a mission with little to no intel, reliable or otherwise. They were _The_ Havoc Squad. They were one of the most important SpecForce squads in the Republic, if not the most important. If they weren't at the frontlines of most missions, the brass was afraid people would lose hope in their war against the Imperials. Since they'd continued fighting after Corellia and won while they were at it, the brass decided they were the poster children of the military now. Stepping down, for any reason, would paint the Republic in a bad light.

And Saresh simply could not have that, now could she?

Stars she hated her.

"You're overthinking again." Aric says knowingly, and she snaps her head up from her palm, clutching the ring tightly as she swivels her head around to the doorway, dropping the datapad on the mattress in surprise. Hakio had been caught yet again, and she'd been surprised by Aric many times before, and this probably wouldn't be the last time. She was notorious for having tunnel vision when she's focused (or overthinking, as she's been accused of), metaphorically, and this wasn't any different. He'd gone to shower what felt like only a few minutes before hand, but a glance at the chrono on the wall alludes her to believing that it had gotten away from her. She, in comparison, was still sticky with cooling sweat, which was a disgusting feeling now that she focused on it, "What is it about now?"

"Nothing, everything. The usual." Hakio answers, relaxing as the blast door slides shut again, leaving them in relative privacy. Something hits the ground loudly just up the stairs from their quarters, she knows the sound rather well. She winces, though it isn't muted so she assumes it's not a body (one bad argument between -of course- Synntai and Vik that ended in a scuffle that was probably better designated as a fight between subordinates), but it did sound rather expensive, durasteel against durasteel, "Debrief didn't go well with Jaak and Viz, huh?"

"Somehow, I doubt that's it for either of them." He answers, hesitating for a moment before sitting down next her. Almost instinctively she lays her head against his shoulder, feeling the tension drain out of her muscles. It's a comforting touch that she relishes in, and a quiet but obvious purr alludes her to that he isn't exactly hiding his own enjoyment. His fur is still damp, but not wet enough for her to shy away from it, "They seem as if they're in varying states of preparation though, Viz has gotten a little too quiet, and I'm sure Jaak is on the holonet where he shouldn't be. I think it went well."

"It's like watching my younger siblings before a major exam again." She says sarcastically, and he holds out his hand for her, and she takes it, intertwining their fingers together. His own ring glints against the dim light of their quarters, silver against his auburn fur. A tingle runs through her senses as he leans back against her. She sighs, eyes flickering to the datapad next to her before closing her eyes and leaning against him, "I thought I was making the right decision, letting them lead us through Ziost. Though, more and more I think about it, don't you think something smells way too fishy about this? Like...something just isn't right? Especially with us only being contacted yesterday about everything...she can't actually expect us to be okay with this, can she?"

"Hakio, I've learned questioning Command never got us anywhere good, or any closer to answers. If you're really concerned, couldn't you pull a few people from the mission? Eleven people anywhere is already pushing it, maybe it's better we only bring the people we need." Aric considers, before pushing a leg around her so that he has her a sort of hug instead, and she's beginning to melt into puddy at just the feeling of him around her. This, was why people didn't mix business with pleasure, she could never get anything done when he was all cuddly like this, "We don't really need two medics, do we?"

"With our crew? Aric that's like asking for a death sentence." Hakio rolls her eyes, looking up at him. He chuckles darkly, a grin on his face that matched the one that was slowly creeping up on her as well, "As 'classically trained' as our dear Alderaanian heir is, I doubt he even knows his way around a kolto injection. As for Viz, I'm pretty sure she sees medics as optional. You saw the injuries she came back with from her solo mission to Nar Shaddaa. She's a good leader, but absolutely horrid about asking for help when she needs it." Hakio groans, the Mirialan was toting around a few blaster wounds as well as a broken wrist before she'd returned to the Thunderclap during mid-morning reps, and claiming that she didn't need a med droid because here she was, standing on her own, right? That was honestly one of her many fears about Ziost, that Viz would get hurt and put everyone else above her health and stay fighting much longer than she needed to.

Elara had already told her there were plenty of injuries, such as Vza'haria's wrist (that according to records had been snapped plenty of times before and had an extended range of motion because of it), that wouldn't ever heal properly since she didn't take the downtime required for them to heal.

"Everyone comes back with a story from Nar Shaddaa. And that's something she'll have to work out for herself, just like you did." He responds, as she picks up her datapad again during the moment of silence. Just reaching over for it, she pauses to see if Aric would stop her or if he would become upset with her need for it (it felt like all she did was look at the stupid hunk of metal for the last couple of days, and now with their midnight holocall from Saresh hanging over their heads, she's sure he's even a tad bit frustrated that she hasn't had time for him). He shifts so his arms are around her waist instead, his head on her shoulder now as he looks over it, maybe curious about the contents. His purring grows louder as he gently nudges her neck with his chin, and it takes quite a bit of willpower not to drop her shoulder entirely. Hakio's getting a tad too warm to be comfortable, but that's what she got for marrying a Cathar -- entirely not about the way that he made her feel, "Besides Viz though, I'm sure some part of Havoc will get called out for something while we're on Ziost. If we don't make the decision, I'm sure someone up top will for us. And with the lack of information, we could get stuck down there and people could die across the galaxy because of it."

"We're not the only SpecForce squad in the galaxy, but I see where you're coming from. Elara or Xev'heng could be useful somewhere else instead of being on Ziost. Though I wouldn't want to seperate them, you know how Xev gets." Hakio deadpans, thinking of how irritable and quick to anger the Twi'lek medic became without his wife. It wasn't always immediately obvious, but it did quickly become difficult to handle at times. She would think that a medic would be more soft-spoken and understanding, but Xev'heng rarely was soft _or_ understanding to anyone.

"If it's a matter of life or death, he'll wait a week to see Dorne." Aric advises, "Your call though."

"No, no you're right, as you always seem to be for some reason." Hakio affirms, rolling her eyes playfully, "I'll start thinking about team composition in a bit, get people where they need to be before we get to Ziost. Do we even have clearance to land yet?"

"Not as far as I'm concerned, and I highly doubt that we're going to get any sort of clearance to begin with. Think this was a split second decision by our favorite person in the Senate." He growls, scrolling down the list himself absentmindedly as the aurebesh drawls by in a dizzying array of blue, "Isn't the safest op to be screwing with rules and regulations either. Really think there could've been more planning involved, but isn't much we can do 'till we land."

"We'll have to get someone to hit Coruscant for resupply while we're gone anyways. I'd send C2, but he's down for repairs this week because Yuun is updating him and Fourex. Not to mention that we're already nearly there. I don't even have a comprehensive list of who else will be down here with us except a couple Jedi masters that she just happened to mention on the report." She sighs defeatedly, before looking up at him, "Swear this job is going to be the literal death of me. Is there anything we can't go without?"

"Not anything I can think of at the moment. Some of your lighter armor needs basic repairs, but I'm guessing we're going full commando so it shouldn't be a problem." Finishing the thought, he presses a kiss to her lips, and she sinks into the touch. It's as euphoric as the first time, as it often is. Staring into his emerald green eyes, she smiles tiredly, laying flush against him. Hakio can't name another person in the galaxy besides her parents who she's felt safer with than Aric, yet it feels like every moment is another opportunity to lose him. He presses another kiss to her temple before asking, "You ever wish we were normal sometimes? Home somewhere else than a ship? More stable jobs, maybe a litter of runts while we're at it?"

"Normal, is overrated, sorry. What would I even be doing without the military? A housewife?" Hakio asks, chuckling. It's a question that's been thrown around for years, never with a concrete answer either. The military had been sown into her from a young age, and to just leave would be an injustice to her upbringing. Not to mention this was all she knew, she wouldn't know much better to be anything better -- because there wasn't anything better. With all the death and danger and bloodshed, yes she was sure she could acquire a job less gory but it wouldn't make her happy, not the way protecting people did. While productive, being someone like her mom or like her other siblings just didn't interest her. Of course, the _idea_ of being a mother wasn't a horrid one, just not one she wanted to put into practice. Anyone with her and Aric for parents...she wasn't sure she wanted to see the results with all of their flaws. Not to mention that she was thirty four and still lived off rations instead of just cooking 'like a sane person' (courtesy of her older sister Quinne Hyperion, who had lived with both her and Aric while she'd been down from a concussion; the woman despised the fact that neither partner knew much about 'fine cooking'). At least hungry soldiers accepted it wholeheartedly without a second question, including her lifemate, "Think I would go mad within the week."

"Maybe." He teases, sliding the datapad out of her hands and next to them on the mattress so that her attention is on him again, "Maybe not. Never knock it 'till you try it, right?"

"I tried it for nearly twenty years. I hated every single second of it, especially because you weren't in it." She murmurs softly, a genuine, if not also softer smile crossing her features. He scoffs, Aric Jorgan was never one for affection in the pure form, but it didn't mean that he didn't appreciate it, his smile mirroring her own, "To be absolutely clear, I wouldn't want to be anywhere other than on the Thunderclap fixing things, or on Coruscant with the roar of traffic around us and waiting to hear if anyone's caused a scandal lately, or without you. So I don't wish to be normal, I never would've met the people that make me who I am now. That's the answer to your question."

"I don't know where you get all this sappiness, but it looks like it is far too late to get out of it." He snickers. She gives him a look, although the intentions are kind, so she isn't particularly offended by the comment, "Don't ever change, yeah?"

"I think I can keep that promise." Though her mood has lifted considerably since he'd arrived, her expression drops again as her com beeps with an unanswered call, her eyes darting to where it sits charging on it's port. Hopefully, not anyone that would be too pissed with her not answering when they called, "Promise me you'll be careful on Ziost, please. You said it yourself, it's a dangerous op to be playing games with and--"

"And I wouldn't know what to do without you. I know." His hand tightens on her's, trying to comfort her. He isn't exactly smiling at the thought, but she knows that he would do just about anything for her. The injuries he'd sustained while under her direction still makes her heart ache. It was all for her, it was always for her, "We're mates for life, and death doesn't exactly come easy for Jorgans, I hope you know."

"Believe me, I'm sure every medic on Coruscant can vouch for that opinion." She responds, a sad smile on her face as her thumb brushes a scar running along Aric's jaw, "Doesn't mean we're immortal though, Aric. Promise me that you'll be careful, please. It might not mean much, but it'd give me peace of mind at the very least. Know your CO actually gives a shit if you come back or not, and that your wife will miss you so very much if you don't."

He looks nearly apologetic as he tries to form his words, fumbling with his thoughts before he can compose it all, "I promise I'll come back to you, Hakio. I always will. Imps can try to take me from you, but can't promise they'll be alive after it all."

"That's...such a veiled threat, Aric. But I still appreciate it nonetheless." She's less worried now, and more amused by the idea. One that she knew was entirely true and not at all a ruse to keep her from worrying. He captures her lips again, gentle at first before she nips at his bottom lip. It was the little things that kept her going, the late nights, the brief touches disguised as bumping into each other. Coming home to him was what made it all worth it.

The comm rings incessantly again, so as disappointed as she is, she pulls away from him. Fixing her shirt and picking the blasted thing off it's charger, she waves a goodbye as she leaves their personal quarters and up the stairs to the empty cockpit.

Business before pleasure, as much as that business interrupted her pleasure, it was also the thing that lead her to the love of her life. Hell, if it lost her love, then someone would have hell to pay. She would not go quietly.

She loved him, and before she was Major Hakiojkl Hyperion, she was Hakio Jorgan.

_"Major Hyperion speaking..."_

-

"Twelve O'clock!" Hearing Aric's voice over her com, Hakio whips around just fast enough to leap out of the way of yet another Sith, sliding on the snowy duracrete. He swings his lightsaber around again, but a sniper shot knocks him backwards onto the ground. Blood pools from his shoulder, and she jacks his head with the butt of her rifle as he rises again. Knocked out cold, but not dead from the look of things. Still breathing, yet not all there. One and the same with the rest of the people they'd faced.

She's partially glad that it's an Imperial this time, they've already run into quite a few Republic soldiers. Thankfully, none she knew by name, rank or face. No one that had flown down with her, no one who's squad she could get into contact with now as far as she was concerned, but a lot of them went down easy enough so that she didn't have to watch them die. A pang hit her heart at the thought, how many orange and white uniforms were now stained by blood that they'd spilled over the last few hours. They'd all been attempting to kill them mercilessly yes, but under the influence of something vicious. She couldn't help but feel guilty, and was sure that it was something that Command would try to cover up in the mission debrief with the Senate. The few that they'd picked off through necessity (just as she predicted, Vza'haria had sustained quite a few injuries without ever telling anyone until they'd regrouped) had stopped glowing the odd, unnatural red that seemed to be the norm among those controlled by some odd force once they died. Hakio was no Jedi, and didn't even begin to understand the inner workings of the Force, but there was definitely something Jedi-ish about all of this, of not Sith. The Sith they'd just been fighting, like many other Force users they'd been unable to kill outright, continued glowing, but didn't move again.

It was time to move on. New Adasta, as she'd learned the name of the city that they had landed in, was littered with bodies and controlled people alike. To say the least, she was very glad that Aric had talked her into leaving the Thunderclap with Xev'heng, Tanno, Yuun, Fourex and Synntai. Leaving the ship here while they wandered around would've probably left it in the hands of some very desperate Imperials trying to get off planet.

Now that she thought about it, she hadn't heard much from anyone lately. Of course, other than the team's coms, people kept quiet as not to be caught by Imperial forces. It was standard protocol, so she didn't suspect much just yet, but their hour check-in was coming up soon. A few squads had already dropped out of contact with the rest of the strike force, Aurek, Cresh and Resh were missing as of the last periodic check up, not to mention how many squads had reported losing squadmates to the Emperor's control. To put it simply, no one could afford to swerve from the mission entirely and track them down, so for now they were simply considered MIA. It was frustrating hearing the silence as each squad called in except for them, and she winced as Krenth's CO kept asking when they'd be back. She had half a mind to think that they were looking for their sibling or loved one on the opposite team.

Hakio didn't want to come across the squads, dead or controlled. She'd never be able to get the picture out of her head, she already knew that much.

No one had managed to find anyone from the squads as they scoured the city either. Whether they'd turned and become part of the murderous populace or simply were hiding out from Imperial forces...it was anyone's guess at this point. And no one wanted to play that game of chicken either.

Not everything had to gone to shit just yet though, the intel was plentiful and she was sure Command would appreciate it. The Imperial forces who weren't controlled just yet were being pushed back, alongside the civilians who were just trying to make it to evacuation shuttles. Saresh had yet to contact any of the squads though, and for now it was just learn and return. And fight back as much of the Imperial military as they could. Civilians were off-limits for everyone, though with the bodies that littered the ground, that they'd been killed in the crossfire, not intentionally. If anything, the few with stab wounds from vibroknives were surely civilian-civilian kills. The aching grows more potent as she averts her gaze from a child who lay motionless against a building.

It was frustrating at best, disastrous at worst.

She was going to wring Theron Shan by his neck if she didn't get out of here within the next few days, or the Emperor himself. Not only had she not heard from a single Sixth Line Jedi within the time they'd landed (no other squad had managed to either, so she took that as a bad sign), it was not to mention that not many knew just how long they were supposed to be here either. With all of the similarities in armor among the snow, this wasn't supposed to be a siege on Ziost, it was a siege on the Imperial military. One that was being lost, not because of idiocy on either army, but because of this new controlled force that was eating away at the planet's population and the opposing forces.

"Viz, three O'clock!" Jaak'lo yells, another Imperial taking a shot at her that Hakio hadn't seen previously. She'd have to hand it to the Lieutenant when this was all over, he was nothing if not extremely versatile in the field, not to mention detail-oriented and precise. Before Vza'haria can even begin to react, something pushes her out of the way, surely the Force again. She hits the ground hard, smacking onto the duracrete with her armor and groaning audibly. Hakio takes a battle stance, cocking her rifle and scanning the area. A flash of a blue lightsaber leaps out of the shadows, striking down one of soldiers in the the encroaching platoon of Imperial soldiers she hadn't seen before. She can't even begin to try and land a shot anywhere in fear of hitting them, but it's very clear that they're not controlled. Which the accuracy and battle tactics, the Emperor had yet to get his hands on them.

Double green sabers follow quickly after, and in the distraction she races over to her fallen soldier, who was already picking herself back up and brushing off her armor with little more than a gentle acknowledgement that she would be okay. Jedi then, she figures as the pair finish off the attacking force. She darts a glance to Aric, who's been perched up on an apartment balcony for a while. He nods back in acknowledgement, and she starts off towards the pair. They're in Jedi robes, dark, long and brown, as she can see from where she's standing now, but there are bits of gold on the armor plating here and there that throw her off of believing that.

No one just...stole a lightsaber and got away with it, right?

For her sake, she hopes she's not walking to her death.

With that information, she treks on across the relatively empty (other than the soldiers, who she gave a wide berth as she crossed) dim street. A sign is flickering in and out, pink and blue, blue and then dark. In the light, one of the assumed Jedi turns around, a Mirialan male with a deep scar across his face, one that was still healing faces her first, _"We have a visitor."_ Is all she can make out from reading his lips as he whispers to his companion.

"What can I do for you, sir?" He asks once she gets close enough to hear. His purple eyes dart to the insignia on her shoulder, "Havoc Squad was called here? Here I was thinking we were the only ones here."

"Then we'll skip the pleasantries. Good eye, and yes. Thank you for what you did, though I'm not sure I appreciate having people thrown around." He looks sheepish for a moment as she calls him out on his past actions only a few minutes ago, before recomposing himself and straightening, "Major Hyperion of Havoc Squad."

"Ah, I apologize for that. It wasn't meant to be an act of violence, though the gentle push wasn't exactly what I intended." His voice is much younger than she'd originally assumed she'd get from the scarred man, yet he's apologetic all the same so she isn't about to chew into him, "Knight Whyatt Grace. My padawan, Dhyndre Djaal." He says, motioning to the woman beside him, who glances up from her now dark holocom. A few shades lighter than she is, the woman has short blonde hair beneath the hood, and piercing blue eyes that seem to glow in the shadows. She flexes a prosthetic hand in greeting, though remains silent.

"I apologize if I assume too much, but you're Sixth Line, aren't you?" Hakio asks, taking in their small outfit. She couldn't see much past them besides a classic speeder bike, one that went out of style on Coruscant ages ago. She holds up a cease fire sign on her hand to get the rest of her squad to stand down, before turning back the two Jedi, "Haven't come across many of you yet."

"I'd be surprised if you hadn't. But we've been separated from the main group for a couple of days now. I wouldn't say that's normal but from the look of things, I'm assuming the Republic's many forces are pretty scattered as well?" He questions, as the rest of her squad crosses the street, Vza'haria rounding out the back, "Have had to hide from a couple squads I think, couldn't figure if they were Republic from a distance though."

That piece of information is enough to make her think the three missing squads had been controlled, but she pushes down the pain for the time being, "We're not exactly the entire Republic army, but yes. We're scattered across the planet, trying to push back Imperial forces. Just as Saresh requested, if you can believe." The sound of clattering boots on the ground makes her shuffle further into the shadows, the Jedi following her lead. Just as they manage to get Elara into the alley way after them, more Emperor-controlled soldiers walk down the street aimlessly. The red glowing is absolutely terrifying to watch as it wafts off of them, and she doesn't turn back to the pair until they disappear around a corner. A sigh of relief settles over the eight people once they're gone, "You haven't been turned yet?"

"I'm sure we can ask you all the same question. People have been turning out of the blue for the last two days, a lot of the Sixth Line has. Master Surro...I haven't seen her since we landed." Dhyndre adds softly, lowering her hood and brushing her hair out of her face, revealing more burn scars along the left side of her face, "Theron Shan. My master and I have tried to get into contact with him for a while, yet no one has any idea where he is. He was the whole reason we were called here."

"Only the blasted Emperor knows, I'm sure." Aric growls under his breath, though she can't even make a face because of her helmet covering her features. Turning away from him, she rolls her eyes anyways, he is right. If everyone is having the same issue with the agent, then she doesn't feel nearly as angry, "Same reason we're here, though I'm sure Saresh only sent us to save his screw up."

The pair share a look, but it's one of understanding instead of one of confusion, "We can sympathize. Though we probably aren't the best example of Jedi to begin with, we are technically black ops anyway." Dhyndre admits, wringing her hands out, "We were sent to infiltrate Ziost, but clearly things kind of went sideways. Theron's a good guy though, he's never lead me astray before. Something's really wrong with all of this, I know it. None of it makes sense."

"Can definitely see where you're coming from on that one." Hakio answers, before her com rings again. Pressing the button the side of her helmet, she listens into the static before it connects, "Go for Herf and Mern."

"Havoc, Mayhem, you're the only squad that's checked in for the last few minutes. You're late by an entire five minutes." Nern's squad CO says sternly, sighing in relief though, "Onith and Jenth are the latest squads to miss their check in, and three more have reported one or two soldiers lost to the Emperor's control. Have you been able to find any of the missing squads?"

"No. We've been alone since we landed, only a couple Imperial patrols." Hakio responds, forming a fist with her left hand as she glances over her own squad. Great, two more squads missing. Out of the thirty squads that had been brought onto Ziost, that meant twenty five were still out there. Others, she was beginning to think were really KIA. MIA was a little too hopeful for this situation if she's being entirely honest, "You?"

"We lost Rwen a couple minutes ago. They started to just...lose it. Catatonic even. Finally they just went red. During that, we just had to leave before they came after us. Multiple stories of the same thing happening to other squads are coming in by the dozen." Hakio can nearly hear Nern's CO shaking his head in disappointment, or maybe frustration, "No one from Havoc or Mayhem is showing signs? Trill mentioned being attacked by one of their squad members because they stuck around too long after the change."

"Not that I know of, no. I have all six of us here." Hakio says, flashing a look over them. No one seemed particularly out of it, so she figured they were good to continue. She gives a longer look to Vza'haria, who's armor is splattered with blood and dented in a few places, but she's keeping a lookout so the concern is dimmed, "I'll keep an eye out for them, Nern squad. Got a couple Sixth Line with us, Saresh want anything from them?"

"Not as far as I'm concerned, no. Though with how many I've seen, keep them close. The Jedi Order in general has lost many today, and I doubt they'll want to lose many more. You got names on them?" He asks.

"Dhyndre Djaal and Whyatt Grace." Both Jedi perk up at the mention of their names, and she can hear the repeat of their names over the com to someone else on Nern's CO's side, "Think the Grandmaster will be happy to know that she hasn't lost them all. If you can, get them to an evac point. Intel is saying that no one is being controlled on the space station or the fleet, and most Force-users seem to be the most affected."

"Could I get that in writing? Hell could I get everything in writing?" She asks sarcastically, and Nern's CO chuckles offhandedly, "I've got you though. I'll keep an eye out for any squads, and I'm assuming Saresh hasn't allowed us to pull out yet, has she?"

"Someone will let you know if she does. Sure from her eyes, we're winning." He says frustratedly. He says something she can't make out, before she overhears a scream. Static takes over the com.

"Nern? Nern Squad? Narvon Squad! Sorin, status!" She can't hear anything, no matter how much she tries to get a response from them. Taking her hand from her ear, she looks up at the small group around her, "Safe to say Nern Squad is down, I think."

"Blazes, not them..." Elara murmurs, disraught. Ailast Sorin had been a close friend of Elara's since Belsavis, and had managed to become acquaintances with Hakio herself. Narvon was his pride and joy, and knowing the Rattattaki was down only makes the entire situation worse, "Major, what do we do next?" She asks, turning to her.

"Whyatt, Dhyndre. Would you be missed if we got you off planet?" Hakio asks quickly, Jaak'lo pulling out his holocom just as the though rise. A map of New Adasta appears in the projection, spinning gently as a red dot lands somewhere on the map that she doesn't focus on immediately. Surely an evac point, "Whether I'm weak-minded or not by your standards, I figure we gotta get you out of here."

"I doubt anyone would know we were missing, or care." Whyatt responds, a worried look in his eyes as Dhyndre turns to him, "I'd be more afraid that the Emperor would try to take hold of one of us. Evac ship or not, as far as I know as long as we're still on planet or in orbit we can still be controlled."

"What would you do with us gone? Wouldn't it be better for us to stay and help?" Dhyndre interjects, "We're Knights, not cowards. I don't stand down in the face of danger." She says firmly, crossing her arms even in the wake of her Master's disapproval.

"The face of danger is taking the form of the Emperor himself, Ms. Djaal. This not a face you should stand in, I'm afraid." Ryean insists, his softer voice attempting to convince the young woman. She's never been more glad to have a diplomat on the team, because she looks halfway convinced, if not less conflicted than a few moments ago, "No one should have to be here right now if they don't have to be. And with the rest of the Sixth Line down and Theron MIA, your safest place would be back on Coruscant."

"I'm helping with or without you, Havoc. Even if Theron's dead, I'm still going to do my best to finish the mission. I'll leave when the intel is solid." Not exactly a compromise, but it seems she's more open to leaving eventually rather than a solid never.

"Dhyndre--" Whyatt starts sternly, before cutting himself off. Something rumbles underneath their feet, the sound of electricity arcing through the air, "That's the power dampeners. Someone's turning them off."

Hakio can hear it herself, and intends to ask why someone would be doing that in the middle of an invasion, but not before something hits the ground behind her. Whipping around, her eyes widen as she can see Vza'haria on the ground nearby, head in her hands. Pausing for a moment, she rushes over, taking a knee to look at the woman. Hakio can't figure what's wrong at first, maybe she's hit her head or maybe she's been shot somewhere. There's no blood, so she attempts to do a once-over. She can barely get her head up when the Mirialan shrieks, causing her to cover her own ears. Bent over on all fours, the woman is heaving for breaths, struggling to do much other than even stay upright. She yanks her helmet off, damp strands of blonde hair hanging over her face. Hakio opens her mouth to call Elara over, she isn't sure whether Vza'haria is having a medical emergency and needs that attention or not, but something's odd...off about her quivering as she tries to pick herself back up off the ground.

Sorin's last words become evident in her mind as she considers what is happening. It only becomes more obvious as her hands first begin to glow red, then it moves up the rest of her armor. Scrambling up, she gives Vza'haria one last look over her shoulder before running the direction back towards her squad, "Go!" Is all she can get out as they follow after her. Pressing a hand to her ear, all she gets is static at first before someone picks up, "Go for Herf and Mern!"

"I hear you Havoc, what's going on?" Krenth's CO picks up, and she's glad as she rounds out the back of the group, keeping one eye on them and the other behind her in case her fallen squadmate -- her sister is following behind them, "Havoc?"

"Reporting a turning, we've lost Captain Vza'haria Atiya to the Emperor." She can barely choke out, willing the tears away, "One more lost."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The squads mentioned are referred to by their aurebesh alphabet names. They have actual names, I just happen to be a tad lazy. I've also wanted to write about Aric and Hakio again for a very long time, so as PG as I could keep it (as PG as it legally has to be for another three years :/), here they are! Their squad members are as follows: Hakio (CO; Major, Havoc Squad), Aric (XO; Captain, Havoc), Elara (Captain; Medic, Havoc), Vza'haria Atiya (Captain, Mayhem), Tanno Vik (Lieutenant; Demolitionist, Havoc), Yuun (Lieutenant, Havoc), Xev'heng Lumere (Lieutenant; Medic, Mayhem), Jaak'lo (Lieutenant; Covert Ops., Mayhem), Synntai Pakar (Sergeant; Demolitionist, Mayhem), Ryean Wystern (Sergeant; Diplomatic Relations, Mayhem), Fourex.
> 
> Havoc is split into the original Havoc Squad, which did include everyone for a period of time, before eventually Saresh decided they needed a separate squad for more covert operations. So Mayhem Squad was made, and it's still relatively new by the time Shadow of Revan hits so Hakio is still technically CO of the squad, but they succeed and produce results so the Chancellor is pushing her to split the squads finally.


	16. Girls Trip - Ziost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ba'shira decides this is one of her worse girls trips. Khaak gives her a way out -- possibly fatal for a certain SIS agent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a filler chapter to bring Ba'shira into the main Shadow story. Bear with me, J'nell will be important later down the road.

**BA'SHIRA._ZIOST.**

This was going so well, only about forty eight hours ago here on Ziost. Almost two days. For two whole days, she could say that it really was going her way _for once_. The first time Ba'shira had been with any sort of real family in literal years, and this was how it was going to end? Really? Cooped up in an old apartment and praying that Mako would pick up her holocom and she didn't know, maybe answer after she'd pinged her sixteen thousand times? A cheap apartment on the west side of New Adasta was _not_ supposed to be her tomb, and no Sith was taking her down that easily. She'd taken quite a few in the past, century-old Emperor or otherwise it really shouldn't have been that different or difficult.

Except apparently she wasn't the sole target this time around, which made things way more complicated than they should've been. Not like her typical visit to Nar Shaddaa or Hutta with plenty of headhunters on her tail hoping to capitalize on a bounty that was years old at this point. Instead, the entire planet was going down with her in rakghoul-like glee. _Yippee..._

It wasn't nearly as fun as it should've been, really. Not as fun as her mind had made her think it was going to be, at least. Hyping up the trip to the Imperial homeworld was the only way to get her mind off of everything (well that made it sound like she was actively being hunted -- which was always). Torian was on a hunt with some of his friends from another clan, and not wanting to be the clinging wife she despised watching on holodramas, she'd decided to visit some of her _own_ friends without making a fuss about it. Mako was gone, off with her boyfriend of a few months (a certain Cathar that she didn't trust as far as she could throw him) and Gault was out being Gault (what that entailed, she wasn't sure and definitely didn't want to know). So she decided that she just had to find a distraction of her own somewhere, with someone else preferably. 

That being past Captain J'nell Wryen of their small party of then bounty hunters and smugglers (Thara had always preferred the term 'free traders' while they were travelling but Ba'shira would always call them what they were), and she'd come to pay the aging woman a visit. Well, aging was a strong word, the woman still looked like she was maybe thirty instead of nearing forty-five, but that was beyond the point. Beside drinking together and sharing stories of old and new jobs, it was a comforting time for Ba'shira to be around. Life day was coming up rather soon too, so the other goal was to find something for the crew in the marketplace if she could. If Torian was reconnecting with old friends, well there was no reason his cyar'ika couldn't do the same. Still fuming he didn't invite her along to begin with, but she digressed. By blood, she wasn't Mandalorian (apparently they didn't tend to care as long as you didn't break their code of honor, it still bothered her sometimes, feeling inferior and whatnot), so maybe it was a sort of thing you didn't invite your non-Mandalorian wife to. She'd never know, pride and all getting the better of her.

Didn't mean she wasn't frustrated, their anniversary and yes, the Wookie holiday were both coming up and she'd wanted to spend the days leading up to it with him, but she figured she would be as bad as those women in the holodramas if she begged him to stay back all for her. She knew just how happy and ecstatic he was when he brought things back for her, and another fur rug was never a bad thing in their home. Knowing her cyare had brought it back for her made it all the more sweeter. 

She was much overdue for a little me time anyways. How long it had been since she'd laid back, knowing she wasn't on the run and no one was looking for her or needing her with a glass of Corellian whiskey in one hand and a holocom in the other...she did not know. That would have to be remedied more often, the warm feeling that spread through her body as she chuckled and hiccuped with the woman was something she hadn't experienced in what felt like forever. No talk of running anywhere, just them and learning about what the other had been up to in the years past. The woman had been here for years after she'd left their little smuggling crew, hoping to find the twin infant girls she'd spoken so highly of for so long. It'd been a fruitless journey, one that J'nell was still on apparently.

Ba'shira didn't have the heart to tell her that after nearly twenty five years, that it was probably worth giving up the search. As cold-hearted as it sounded, if she and Torian ever had a child (and that was a very big maybe that she had stuck a pin in since they'd been married) and they disappeared for two decades and then some years, it felt right to just let the path go cold. Holding onto things when it was healthy anymore -- to say the least she had some experience in that field. Maybe it was because she wasn't a mother, so maybe she wouldn't understand the grief just yet, but she still didn't want to help J'nell do anything regarding Mellena and Mivonie. Too emotionally draining, and it was taking up a lot of the two days that they'd spent together before everything went to shit. She was here to relax, not get caught up in a conspiracy that had been apparently active for more years than she'd been alive. Not even to mention that they surely had their own lives by now, maybe they didn't want to be found. A look around the apartment didn't immediately say 'welcoming mother' either. As much as J'nell had raised her, circumstances changed, and she couldn't imagine any kid really being happy in a repair shop of all places.

Still, what holorecordings J'nell had left after their birth, Ba'shira could begin to understand why she was so upset. One of them had been around until she was a toddler, and the little voice that she could hear over the botched audio surely struck a chord within her everytime she heard it. The kid had energy, and was surely a bright light in the dim evening years. Poor girl, Ba'shira found herself wondering what she ever got up to. Or if she was even still alive. That part she didn't tell J'nell. She may have had her doubts about everything she was doing but she wasn't a total asshole. But for some reason sitting silent on the couch as the woman ran herself ragged, talking offhandedly about the same subjects over and over again with pieces of armor, tools and whatnot surrounding her, well she felt worse about that. Not much she could do other than just twiddle her thumbs either.

They'd be older than she was by now. Two years, nearly three. Both force sensitive, both just as blonde as the Sith in the holocom that a very drunk J'nell showed her, tears streaming down her face as she cursed the man multiple times and recounted every single horrible thing he ever did to her. Had the man not already been dead (it was galactic news for a while after everything with the Sith went down, and the Wrath had taken one of the better bounties right out from underneath her; would've netted the crew of the Orchid enough credits to trick out the ship again) he might as well be now. If not for the credits, then just for plain revenge on what he'd done to her friend. Why J'nell was only just telling her all of this now in such a fuzzy state was anyone's guess. While they'd been together when she was little more than a lanky teenager with a penchant for fire on the _Clarity_ , she'd never known the full story. In fact, J'nell had been much less willing to even tell the whole thing in the first place, yet here she was now, clutching the holocom in her hands and sobbing that Xalzon hadn't ever treated her right.

Ba'shira could've told her that, but if she wanted support through all of this, that's what she got. Least the woman was a talented armorsmith, she'd be leaving Ziost with her beskar repaired and ready for whatever battle took place next. The repair shop had been the one level-headed idea that J'nell had in all those years, though she shut it down shortly before joining the crew on the _Clarity_ for some reason or the other. A spunky, thirteen year old Ba'shira with a love for the color pink and flames probably would've been able to tell someone, but tired and sleep-deprived twenty two year old Ba'shira couldn't even remember to eat some days, much less remember any of the finer details about her old captain. She picked the business up again a couple years ago, and that's what they were above as she thought now. Didn't see too many customers in the current climate, but it brought in enough credits for her to have a nice place in the city.

That reminded her, wondering about the fates of Zhonani, her partner Aethreen, Thara, her young son Axis and even Khaak, as many differences as they had. After leaving once the crew was disbanded at absolutely horrid teen age of sixteen, to say that she was -- that she felt alone was an understatement. She had missed her found family dearly in the years past (and had to return to Rwenne and La'anthra saying that they had been right about her needing to stay around), but after she'd been swept up into the Great Hunt at Braden's request two years later, that had become the furthest thing from her mind. Now they were entire mysteries to her. J'nell had been a lucky find, as she'd still had her old com code and it still worked to her surprise. Beyond that, she was grabbing at straws and hoping they were the right ones.

She missed her found family. Much as she loved the crew of the Orchid, it wouldn't ever be the same and she knew it. Still, the little victories would have to do for now. Such as these moments she was able to spend with her. No one ever knew when they'd die, and for someone like J'nell, that could be just about any day now with her drinking problem and how bad it had gotten over the last couple of years.

Also, because fate was a total dick, at least to her. All of this had really started two days ago, give or take in the middle of the night. At least, it'd finally hit their part of New Adasta.

The middle of her damned beauty sleep. The Emperor really had the nerve, huh?

First the screams had woken her up into a panic, startling her into thinking she was back on Hutta or something. Thinking someone had broken into the apartment, had already killed J'nell and they were then coming for her too. Sleepily reaching for her blaster and taking a shot at who she then discovered to be J'nell in the kitchen because she had been so spooked, she had managed to calm down when a return shot nearly hit her in the darkness of the apartment, knocking a holophoto behind her off-kilter from it's place on the wall, crashing to the ground with sound of it falling apart on impact just behind her. That was a moment that she'd bury in the corner of her mind until the day she died, as J'nell flicked on a light with her dilated blue eyes with fear wavering out of them.

Well, the years surely hadn't taken their toll on J'nell's aim. That was a welcome surprise. Well, it would've been if it didn't nearly take her out in cold blood.

So the scream hadn't be the older blonde woman's. That was a relief in itself as she apologized to the woman hurriedly and dashed out onto the balcony with J'nell on her heels as another one rang out in the night. At first Ba'shira can't see anything, and is convinced that maybe it was part of a dream or hallucination. Still, with how shrill it had sounded she didn't want to give up on it that quickly, afraid it meant something worse. How close it had been to her own mother's scream that was etched into her memories from her childhood years spooked her. Scanning the area, the darkness of the night cycle keeps her from really taking in most of the situation before she sees a blue lightsaber light. The plasma's light is enough to illuminate the situation, and she covers her mouth with a hand in horror as someone's body is stabbed through with the lightsaber. J'nell's hand finds her shoulder in the darkness, attempting to gently yank her back from the balcony and back inside. At first, Ba'shira stays, held in place by fear as the lightsaber wielding person continues on, slashing through the rest of the person's party with unadulterated rage.

Weren't Jedi supposed to be the hypocrite good guys? Why would they just be tearing through people like little more than fodder for their lightsabers? Not that Ba'shira ever wanted to support them, she didn't care for force-wielding matters but it was odd. Scary even. Unusual, wrong and downright _weird_.

They turn upwards once they've finished with who is before them, maybe looking directly up at where she was standing. Ba'shira couldn't see where their gaze landed, but J'nell just _knows_. J'nell yanks her backwards with some sort of motherly strength back into the apartment and just far enough away that when the lightsaber makes an arc through where the bounty hunter had just been standing, Ba'shira watches in wide-eyed horror to where her corpse would've laid on the ground. Hurriedly J'nell makes for the curtains, shuttering them closed over the balcony's windows.

Her eyes are bloodshot. Maybe she's been at this longer than Ba'shira has, awake longer than she has been. Reacted to the screaming far faster than she had. Hopefully not kept up by nightmares or the buzz of caff, but the cups that litter the table and the datapad that's still glowing dimly on the table say otherwise. They'd talk about her _obsession_ with finding Mellena and Mivonie at another date, but the only words out of her mouth are a pure, condensed few words to tell exactly what's bouncing around in her head, "What the _fuck_ was that, J'nell? Not sure I'm liking your part of town as much anymore."

She runs a hand through her hair, flickering the lights back off one by one until Ba'shira can only see the woman's silhouette with the dim office lights shining onto much of anything. Ba'shira isn't put anymore at ease in the silence, all except for the buzzing of the holoterminal nearby, "I don't know, Shira. I really don't. Blazes, if I would know any better I'd say that was a Jedi out there. Jedi aren't ever on Ziost...Ziost is Imperial territory."

"You think they are now?" Ba'shira asks, picking herself up tenderly from where she'd been thrown onto the ground. She wants to walk back up to the window, look back outside, let her curiousity take the better of her. But the stricken expression on J'nell's face keeps her from doing otherwise as the woman sits delicately on the couch. Too delicately. Any other day she'd flop down on the worn thing but now...now she sits there with her head in her hands. Wound up probably, but as she leans back her eyes that she can just barely see gives her entire story away, "'Nell, you know something, don't you?" Ba'shira asks, concerned.

"No...not much more than just rumors. And rumors can't ever be trusted, right?" J'nell asks tiredly, pulling a half empty bottle of whiskey out from under the table, unscrewing the top to take a swig before Ba'shira rips the bottle away from her. The look of pure betrayal, of need is evident on her face as she swipes for it with a tired arm. Usually her reflexes are better, but her arm is also shakier than usual, " _Shira._ "

"No more. This," She gestures to the bottle, "and this," she gestures to the datapad and everything else that covers the table. A picture of a blonde toddler looks up at her with surely bright blue eyes just like her mother, and Ba'shira can't help but roll her eyes, "All this goes away until you give me an answer. You always have an in, 'Nell. You always have, and I know that look in your eyes. You know something I don't."

"There have been...rumors that the Republic is planning to invade. Made it down the vine the last couple of days. All that stuff that went down on Yavin with the Pubs? Chances are that won't last very long. Treaty of Coruscant is already in shambles because people can't sit still anymore, the Republic is already starting their push on Balmorra again. Only seems fitting they'd attack here next, especially as some big fancy show of power. Can see galactic headlines now, 'Republic takes the Gateway to The Empire'. Can I have my whiskey back now?" J'nell says, quickly and longwinded before she tries to take the bottle back again, standing this time. Ba'shira has no height on the other woman, so she gives up and hands it back, "Why I'm like this, kid? I ain't got anything left anywhere. After the _Clarity_ , you think things got better? No. This has been my home for years, and to just see someone die out there? Hell, it just might be my time." J'nell shakes her head, slowly sipping at the liquid with disappointment in her eyes.

"Does the Empire know? Not that I'm interested in helping them, but I don't want the Republic paying my bills." Ba'shira deadpans. Not much else she can do on that front, she and J'nell know loss like an old friend who's always there for the rainy days and nights that nothing else matters. She shakes her head after she takes in what J'nell had just admitted to, "Do we need to get out of here? Is there a chance there are more Jedi like that one crawling over Ziost with all their weird Force powers?"

"Hey, I'm not military or Intelligence. Take that up with Miss Beniko, new head of Intelligence last I heard." J'nell responds, looking moreso at the now half empty glass bottle than her company, "Just rumors. It'll probably clear up within the next couple of days. As you'll learn about us Ziostian folk, we don't exactly let our friends and neighbors just die on us without a fight."

As she goes back to bed, Ba'shira wants to believe that. There are plenty more screams that night, she knows because she can't go back to sleep. That's a horrifying sight, even though she has seen plenty other Sith go about their business. Mierrio comes to mind, their time on Makeb flickering through her memories. But those were pirates, pirates who were horrible people and killed folks for their own gain. The person who'd just died down there...maybe they had a family. Friends. People who cared about them.

And they'd just died.

It doesn't improve into the wee hours of the morning when she's considering finding her own bottle of alcohol to help her sleep as she hears three more screams over the next few hours into when the sun rises over the planet. She gets three hours of sleep within that first day, and that day is the day when everything goes to shit. The screams get louder. She goes out for J'nell to the market and just barely makes it back with her life and a week worth of food. It logically doesn't make any sense, and it wasn't just Jedi -- in fact she didn't see another one until a week later. Common people, the military, hell even Sith had lost their minds and took out whoever walked in their path. If It wasn't for J'nell's extensive knowledge of not only the underworld and back roads in New Adasta as she was literally running to survive the next few minutes, there was no way she would've made it to the apartment without suffering a few injuries or even losing her life. The first time she employed a grappling hook in her entire life was that day, and while exhilarating to watch the world pass by underneath her, it was also terrifying in a way she didn't want to experience ever again. The red mist that seemed to evaporate off the people who were going mad...it was so unnatural, and that was coming from Ba'shira, who had definitely seen some shit while working for Sith in the Citadel. She'd never seen this before.

Com connections started to waver halfway through that day. When she'd gone to contact the _Orchid_ and arrange a pick up for later that night, nothing had gone through as it should've. Static, some basic communication but no visual. Almost no audio. She and J'nell discovered it was due to some communications tower being down nearby, entirely destroyed earlier in the day. It explained the explosions that had jarred her throughout the entire experience, at the very least. And with just about every civil brain cell down in the city, there surely wouldn't be any repair crew coming in.

Ba'shira was not having any fun, now that much was clear as day, as redundant as the phrase got she was sticking by it. Stuck in an apartment with an alcoholic widow with people screaming throughout the night? Please. This was supposed to be an outing she was supposed to enjoy. If this was all some elaborate plan by the Imperial government to flush her out of hiding (wasn't unheard of, it'd nearly worked on Alderaan just before Gault smelled something off about the whole thing and subsequently got them off the planet before she was thrown into the slammer for any arbitrary amount of time), it was not going to work. She'd probably blow herself up tinkering with the holoterminal before that happened. Intelligence was a slippery bunch, but considering how many times she'd carried out operations (bounties with a much higher price on them) for the secretive branch of Imperial government, she'd like to say she could sleep with one eye open instead of both when she was on Imperial-sanctioned soil.

Except now both are open. Closing them seems like way too much of a security risk right now. And that isn't a chance she should really be taking.

Just the night before she'd been sleep in the room J'nell had provided for her, unconsciously tossing and turning between being halfway awake and her eyes closing on her. Finally a few 'just passed out in my clothes' instead of actual sleep hours, before yet another attack happened. This time she was slower getting up, quieter grabbing her blaster out of it's holster on her thigh and slipping out of her room. J'nell must've still been out cold, because she faces this threat by herself. No sounds of entry on her first scan of the room, nothing had been touched. Picking her way across the room, something glints out of the corner of her eye. Whirling around, she takes aim before realizing it's just stray piece of durasteel armor. Imperial, the red and black staring at her ominously.

Pushing the curtains aside, all she sees is black at first, before stepping backwards and looking up. She stifles a scream before they hit the window hard with the butt of their rifle, a male Imperial soldier now that she looks properly. He tilts his head sarcastically, a red Zabrak with cuts all over his face and his eyes the color of white bantha milk. A smile that is much too stretched, too forced to be anywhere near natural. Without his helmet too, meaning he'd lost it at some point before this and the Emperor hadn't bothered to retrieve it. He bangs against the window again, this time with more force and she reminds herself immediately that she was not here to gawk in awe. Cocking the blaster, she wonders how he even managed to get up so high, considering J'nell lived on the twentieth floor of the apartment building.

 _Stars, if they can fly now_ , she thinks sarcastically, deciding to observe the situation as long as it warranted. What was the rule of thumb again? No quick movements? That worked with rakghouls about one out of four times, that one time being when she'd first met Torian and she was covered in their entrails. Her hand hesitates over the door handle, considering. She can't shoot him through the transparisteel, that would shatter it and probably get her kicked to the curb. Not to mention if he got up here, that meant plenty of others could as well. And that would leave J'nell with a biting breeze through the apartment.

He bangs against the transparisteel again, and she backs up. If she closes the blinds maybe he'll leave, she thinks stupidly. She sees a hairline crack in the material, and she knows she has to make a decision fast and now before he does it for her. With one fluid motion, she throws open the transparisteel window. He's too slow to take aim for her, and when he does, she's already moved and he's shot J'nell's holoterminal.

Well, she'd pay for it later. Not like the shop didn't bring in any credits to get her a brand new one.

Ba'shira prided herself on being a quick draw artist, and it came in handy as she makes quick work of the situation, shooting him quick in the thigh of his armor. Distracted by it for just a moment with the sheer force of the blaster and being in such close quarters, she manages to slip around and knock him backwards in quick succession. Leaning against the guardrail, she figures he'll have one hell of a headache in the morning before he kicks him over with a final thrust of her leg into his chest. Brutal, yes, but the job is done. The spookiest thing is that she can't hear him scream if he does. Other than the whistle of cool wind playing with her hair, it's quiet. Much too quiet. For a planet dying, she figures there should be way more noise.

There isn't even a loud thump she can hear. A part of her hopes he hit a snowbank or something. Looking around, she finds that the balcony has a small bridge connecting it to another apartment. She curses, finding another one on the opposite side. They'd have to watch for invaders from that direction too.

There is some sound though, about twenty minutes later as she tries to explain to J'nell how her holoterminal had gotten shot in between the fifteen minutes of sleep she'd gotten. The sound of gunshots picks back up in their direction, fires raging below them. Today isn't a day to go out then, especially with Jedi and now Republic troops wandering around in an Emperor-fueled acid trip. Republic forces had arrived that night, and other than the occasional gossip and naysayers from the neighbors of the small apartment, there weren't very many answers to find. No one knew why they were here just yet, or even when most of them got here exactly. Under the cover of darkness, anything could happen, and it seemed that the Republic rightfully took advantage of the confusion and sent them down here. Her bet with an older Togruta next door was ramping up to one hundred credits that the oh so wonderful Chancellor Saresh had something to do with it all. 

Ba'shira intended to win. And with everything going on that side of the galaxy, it seemed like in the worst way, she was right yet again.

Then, she and J'nell wake the third day after the chaos started. Ba'shira intends to finally sleep, it's quiet enough to and she's just snuggled into bed when she hears the window open again. Of course, it's open. There was a crash not that long ago, and J'nell is getting overly curious about them all. To report back, of course, to compare it with other crashes they'd witnessed earlier in the week. She's just dozing off into nap land when the window opens again and something hits the ground hard. Not even bothering to pop up all that quickly, she prays it isn't a dead body that the woman has brought home this time. Worse, that it isn't J'nell's body that's hit the floor.

In her sleep clothes, she picks up her now well-used blaster (she'd just bought it a month beforehand, and now she knew it like the back of her hand with all the action she was seeing in a residential area) and slips outside her room. Scanning the area, J'nell is thankfully still standing, though has the grappling hook gun in her hand again. Stars, that means she'd taken a trip down to the streets without telling her again. She has her outside clothes on, with her electrostaff and other various weapons on her back and in her holsters. Ba'shira had told her earlier in her trip that against folks with blasters, she wouldn't stand a chance but the older woman stood her ground on the purchase, claiming that Xalzon had taught her a few techniques before he'd left. It probably helped that electricity was one of the functions. It did malfunction at times, but apparently nothing the mechanic couldn't handle. Ba'shira wonders just how many times she'd been shocked to hell and back and wasn't telling her.

She was talking to someone in a hushed voice. Great, now they had another roommate to look after. Or another intruder, but J'nell would've shot by now. Half dead then, is the idea she has about this new person.

"Nice place you've got here." A voice says, deeply feminine from in the lounge. Definitely doesn't have the same deep grizzle as the Emperor did, so she isn't on such high alert anymore. No one that's being actively controlled then. J'nell responds with something she can't hear, a grin on her face as the Twi'lek picks herself up off the ground.

"Welcome to the end of a world, kid." J'nell answers, before Ba'shira lowers her blaster. A friend from somewhere else in the city maybe, and she steps into the lounge to get a better look at the Twi'lek. She's tall, but not too much taller than Ba'shira is, and is wearing a ripped jacket, leathris pants and knee high boots. She hadn't seen many female Twi'lek without a headdress before, but this one collapses onto the couch in a heap with it in pieces in her pocket. Her eyes tighten closed, and blood dribbles out of many cuts along her face and lekku. She must've just managed to just barely escape the warfare down below with J'nell, because a few look nearly fatal and a bump is growing on her forehead.

"Shira, you probably heard me come in, huh?" J'nell asks, turning her attention from the woman for a moment, "So I know what I said--"

"No more people, _please._ How do you know the Emperor didn't take control of her too?" She asks in a hushed voice, "Everyone's vulnerable, he just hasn't turned his attention to us yet."

"Crashed outside in a shuttle, by the way. Your friend _Cadera_ here saved me from certain death." A groan from the couch makes it evident that yes, the woman had heard her. She wheezes in another breath, and Ba'shira realizes that there's a lot more blood than she'd first thought (after she realizes that J'nell has yet again given her maiden last name to a stranger). The stains are growing on her jacket and cloth armor, a crimson red that Ba'shira isn't sure she wants to know just how much it's soaked up from her injuries. Surely she was punctured in a few places due to hitting the ground at such a high speed in a durasteel death trap, and one of the holsters is missing a blaster. A crash in a shuttle? Wouldn't she know not to be flying through this area, especially with the anti-air canons being the way they were? Better yet, Ba'shira's curious how she's even managed a shuttle to begin with. She shifts positions, pushing her lekku over her shoulder, "Can you turn the lights down? Like, all the way down?"

"The lights are down, Beniko." J'nell responds, making for one of her cabinets and rummaging around inside. Probably to find a kolto patch. Ba'shira wants to tell her that anything short of a kolto bath probably is going to do little more than just knock her out for a couple hours and make her wake up with one hell of a bodyache, "Just try to relax, yeah? Don't aggravate any of those wounds."

"Beniko? Like the new Minister?" Ba'shira asks, leaning against a wall and placing her blaster on a nearby end table before sliding into the lounge couch across from her, "You're definitely not the new one, are you?"

"Nope. That would be my wife." She responds, trying to open her eyes again. Ba'shira flickers the light over the lounge off, and pressing a button the console of the holoterminal to illuminate the small space. Bathed in the blue light, the woman has the brightest blue eyes she's ever seen once she's able to register what's going on, "Beyond the fact that I just lost her more than half a million credits in that ship, Lana is going to kill me herself for nearly dying."

"If your injuries don't first." J'nell says sarcastically, returning with her meager box of medical supplies, "I've got kolto patches, raw kolto, and painkillers. Take your pick."

"Thanks for that, Cadera." The Twi'lek responds, a gentle smile on her face as she reaches across for something. She strains herself too far trying to shuffle her jacket off, as she bites her lip and rubs the green sticky material over one of the cuts on her arm. Ba'shira doesn't usually shy away from serious injuries, in fact she had plenty over the course of her life, but Beniko's are a kind that she winces at, feels vicariously through the barely bitten back yelps of pain, "Ya'll have been living through all of this? Intelligence just came in today."

"We noticed." Ba'shira deadpans, flickering up a map of New Adasta onto the holoterminal, "I don't live here. I just got stuck here on a very unfortunate sleepaway trip two days ago."

"Got a name?" She asks. Ba'shira raises an eyebrow, considering whether or not to give it to her. Complete stranger (as far as she knows), wife to the Minister of Imperial Intelligence, the same Intelligence that keeps trying to hunt her down time after time for breaking a lot of laws in the past year alone...hard pass, "Hey, no offense at all. Can't keep calling you stranger though." She says after Ba'shira crosses her arms in defiance.

"I'd rather not give you my name, but you can call me Shira." She proposes, instead, deflecting the question entirely as news headlines scroll along the bottom of the map in a dizzying array of aurebesh, "What about you?"

"If we're all going by codenames," She stops to focus on managing a patch on her shoulder and a sigh of relief escapes her once it sticks, "Call me Captain."

"Her name is Khaak. You've been in a lot of tabloids lately, Captain. I was just reading about you before you crashed," J'nell responds, somehow managing a datapad in that amount of time. Ba'shira's attention has been piqued, swiveling her head at the pink Twi'lek in surprise, "Old article, but I can't believe I didn't realize it before when you first told me who you were."

"Article? Which one? The one from what, two years ago?" Khaak questions, leaning over the blonde woman's shoulder, "Oh yeah that is definitely old. I'll admit though, I looked pretty damn good in that tux that day."

" _Khaak!?_ " Ba'shira can't keep her tone down, throwing her hands out in surprise, "'Nell, you're not more concerned that she's here?"

"You weren't aware? I've known where she was for years," J'nell responds, shrugging her shoulders, "The part about being married to a Sith Lord, that part is only relatively new, only maybe two or three years old."

"Who are you, anyway?" Khaak's attention diverts back to her, pushing a hand up to her head with a smile on her face. Nursing a headache then, " _Shira?_ "

"Don't patronize me." She responds at the tone given. Sarcasm then, but she's beginning to put together the memories the two of them had before the _Clarity_ 's crew fell apart. She's gotten a lot older, though not old enough to have any visible wrinkles apparently. How long has it been? Nearly six years since she'd last seen her or anyone else for that matter. Now that she really thought about it, she had seen Khaak's picture with the blonde Minister a few times in some holomags while flickering around for good deals.

"Still spunky little Ba'shira, eh?" Khaak asks, chuckling before she doubles over actually coughing, or choking. Once she recovers, she still has that smile on her face that Ba'shira swore to wipe off her snarky face all those years ago after she'd been denied the ability to fly the freighter ship. And all the times the older woman had bullied her into accepting less than fair pay until she got smart about it, "You got somebody waitin' for you back home now, Ione? Figure you're a real catch these days."

"Yes." Ba'shira deadpans, grimacing at the use of her birth name. She'd changed it after joining the crew for a reason, and thankfully no one other than Khaak knew it. But it was also horrible because no one other than Khaak knew it, and could use it against her, like now, "And before you ask, no you can't have his name."

"Just trying to make peace, not war. 'Nough of that going around right now," Khaak holds up both hands, the same shit-eating grin that she immediately ties back to their last heist as a crew. Her expression falls after a moment though, "Any of ya'll got a ship out of here? I don't know when or if Lana can send anyone to come get me."

"If I did, we wouldn't be here." J'nell responds tiredly, putting her head in her hands and pulling the grappling hook out of her holster and down on the holoterminal as she looks over the Twi'lek, "Well, I would. Shira wouldn't."

"Damn straight," She interrupts angrily, "I ain't here by choice right now. Last couple of days haven't exactly been the best days of my life either."

"I figure. If it makes you feel any better, Imperial Intelligence is doing their best to clamp down on what's going wrong." Khaak says, pausing as she picks up her jacket again from the ground and rummaging around in the pockets for her holocom, surely. She swears under her breath, "J'nell, you didn't pick up my com by any chance, did you?"

J'nell averts her eyes, a clear answer of no. The Twi'lek groans, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees before immediately having to lie back again, "You think you can go back down there and grab it?"

"Pub patrols are probably coming through this area again. I don't know if they're shooting on sight, but I'm not taking my chances." J'nell responds, running a hand through her hair. She's right, patrols of Republic forces have quickly become more frequent and more routine in the last twenty four hours. Controlled or not, they are't friendly and probably would be willing to kill if given the chance or provoked in such a manner, "Give it another couple hours, then I'll go down for a quick moment and see if it's still there."

"I can't wait a couple hours." Khaak complains, putting a hand over her eyes to surely block out the light above her, "Lana's going to be looking for me, and if she can't on her own, I'm afraid she's going to tear through a city block to find me without a regard for who she hurts."

"Who let her be Minister then?" Ba'shira counters, twirling a strand of hair around her finger, "Isn't that like rule one of every major position with power? That you don't let your personal life get in with you business life?"

"If anything can't she put out an alert? Sure she can bypass any comm towers." J'nell gives her a warning look with her grey eyes, and Ba'shira rolls her own, "If not that, you're definitely staying put. At least until you can walk six feet without looking like you just threw back a liter."

"But--" J'nell's look yet again shuts another person down, and she crosses her arms. Not even a moment later, she makes another decision and it happens to at least be a good one, "Fine then. Intelligence has intel that the reason there are so many Republic forces on planet, including Havoc and Mayhem squad, is because a certain Theron Shan brought the Sixth Line of Jedi on planet a few days ago. Blah blah blah, Vitiate, or the Emperor, is rising again but instead of a force sensitive planet, he plans to kill everyone here so he has enough energy to start terrorizing the rest of the galaxy again."

"Sixth Line?" J'nell asks, crossing one leg over the other, blowing a hair out of her face and slipping the scarf off from around her neck, "I thought there was just the Green Jedi and the Order itself?"

"I don't know much more than you do, honestly. All this is just stuff Lana's brought home lately," Khaak confirms what she'd seen the other day with the Jedi outside. Then there were Jedi here, even if no one knew particularly why. Who even was Theron Shan? Shan sounded familiar, though she couldn't figure why right then, "I was supposed to be searching for him somewhere in New Adasta, but obviously I got shot down first. Did you guys see a ship coming down in the last couple of days?"

"There are ships and speeders and just about everything crashing these days. Not much to differentiate them all from each other, can't exactly smell Pub from here," J'nell says, scratching the back of her neck, "Plus, I'm sure Shan was on the run anyways, wouldn't be much evidence to find. This is Imperial territory anyway. Isn't like his type to be here."

"Of course, yeah. But it'd still be good to find him, he is essentially the ringleader of this mess." Khaak responds, "Not that we're friends at all, pretty sure they intend to just find him to get details on why the Sixth Line is here to begin with. If you two can help me get off Ziost and could help me dig up some dirt, I'm sure I could get you on priority evac."

Ba'shira perks up at the offer, shooting a look at J'nell that isn't reciprocated, "Priority evac, you say? What exactly would I need to do, bring him in cold or warm?"

"What do you mean, warm or cold? We need him alive to answer questions, Ione." Khaak says in that tone she despises, the one that makes her feel like she's thirteen again, "This is not a bounty by any means at all."

"Fine then." She huffs, and Khaak moves to tinker with the holoterminal, "Hey, what're you doing with that?"

"Seeing if I can connect it to anyone's com code. Lana's is encrypted, so chances are she wouldn't answer anything from here, but if I can get the Wrath's, she could probably lead me back to her," Khaak says, rushing forward again. She holds a hand to her head from the quick movement, blood spilling out of her nose in a red river. She wipes it away with the back of her hand and opens a panel on the opposite side of the machine.

"The Wrath?" J'nell's eyes widen at the title as if it's the most important thing she's heard all day, "As in the Empire's Wrath, number one on Imperial's World holomag as one of the most beautiful women in the galaxy?"

"You read a lot of tabloids," Khaak sounds mildly interested at this, though she's terribly stuffed up now as she holds a hand up to her nostrils, "But yes. Same Sith, for now five years in a row. Got one hell of a temper from what I hear."

"No wonder, with a title like 'Wrath'." Ba'shira commented as she gets up to circle the holoterminal and watches as the Twi'lek goes about her work. If there was anything to appreciate about Khaak, it was her nimble hands and how well she not only piloted, but also sliced things. Not nearly as good as Zhonani or Thara, but the skill was still there, "You're really about to go bothering one of the most influential people in the Empire?"

"If she wouldn't hurt Lana, she wouldn't hurt me. Don't worry so much, Ione." Khaak reiterates, "Besides, I don't know Nine's com code and not entirely sure I want to try hacking into that. Ain't lookin' to lose my head today or any other day for that matter."

"You've come to the wrong place if you're looking to hunker down and live, but I won't stop you." J'nell responds, pushing herself up off the couch and stretching, "It's nearly time for dinner. You hungry?"

"I could eat, yeah." Khaak nods, before stilling her head. She's got to have a pounding headache, and the look at her exposed back as Ba'shira tilts her head to take in the rest of the damage makes her wince. As mean as she wanted to be, Khaak had probably nearly died down on the streets from that crash. No sympathy was usually warranted for spacers, but Ba'shira's waning on that rule.

Still hurts, but she's yanked from memory lane as Khaak starts talking, "What was that?"

"Who's the kid? 'Nell's?" One of the holocoms with Mellena's earliest and only photo has flickered back on when Khaak had jostled it.

"Definitely ain't mine. Yeah, 'Nell's daughter Mellena. Why?" Ba'shira asks as Khaak lifts her hand from the sparking wires until she can connect them again.

"Looks a lot like the Wrath. Not much to go off of, obviously, but can't you see the likeness? It's in the nose and the lips, not to mention the eyes." She dives back into her rewiring, essentially leaving the conversation. For a moment, Ba'shira wants to scoff at the assumption. There was no way J'nell was the mother to the Empire's entire hope and future. Mellena had been taken by red Sith shortly before her six month birthday apparently, and then not a word after that as far as Ba'shira was concerned. The Wrath had never spoken of her parents, but it didn't ever seem like the Amarillis' or the Quinns were red Sith. Not that she cared, of course, but it was a weird connection to make.

Ba'shira is ready to call Khaak out, maybe as just a joke, but under closer inspection of the wavering picture, she can unfortunately see what her previous Captain saw. She still doubts it, but even the implication hangs over her for the rest of the day.

After she was off Ziost, she could wonder about that. But for now, Theron Shan was her meal ticket off a dying world. He'd better watch his back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khaak and Ba'shira do have some history back before everything went down. They don't much like each other, but always kept civil around J'nell. J'nell's real name is Katari Cadera (hence her nickname of Cadera given to strangers), and Ba'shira's real name is Ione Ithar (gave that up after she joined the crew of the Clarity).


End file.
